This chapter was...different than I planned. I've finally gotten around to playing Jak X (argh, I'm so bad at it...) and I remember why I love my boy Sig so much.

Also, I am generally indifferent to Keira. I like her characterization best in Jak X. Definitely better than the rock impersonation she's doing in Jak 3.


Havenites. Sig didn't know what was wrong with 'em.

"You're gonna wear that out into the desert?"

Keira frowned and cocked her hip. "What, is there a dress code in the Wasteland?" she drawled.

She was wearing the same outfit she usually wore: purple pants, basic leather boots, and (by Sig's approximation) half a shirt. As he watched, she straightened the goggles around her neck and adjusted the bag across her back.

"Just don't complain to me if you get a nasty sunburn," Sig commented. "Desert sun ain't no Sunday afternoon picnic."

"I'll be fine," Keira said dismissively. "If Jak and Daxter can handle it, so can I."

Sig shrugged. "Fine by me. Get in here so we can get movin'."

Keira climbed into the transport and took a seat across from Sig. As she set her bag down by her feet, the hatch shut behind them. She settled comfortably in her seat and looked out the window as they took off.

The transport rose over the port, higher and higher until it was over the wall of Haven City. They could see for miles in the hazy morning light: the dunes of the Wasteland, the peaks of far-off mountains. Spargus was too far into the desert to see from Haven, but that didn't stop Keira from squinting at the horizon.

"Get comfortable, chili pepper." Sig took his peacemaker off his back and set it beside him. "It'll probably be an hour, hour and a half before we reach Spargus."

Keira nodded and reached for her bag. "Good thing I brought my blueprints," she said brightly. She yanked out a blue notebook and a pen. "I can get some work done on my next project."

Most of the ride was spent like this: complete silence, except for the scratching of Keira's frantic scribbles. Eventually, Sig let his curiosity get the better of him. He craned his neck over to see what she was sketching.

It looked like Jak's JetBoard, but it was longer and thinner. Below, in another sketch, the same board had what looked like a sail sticking up. Keira saw him looking.

"It's a new version of the JetBoard," she explained. "It's more maneuverable and uses less energy than the one Jak has. I was hoping to build a prototype soon, but...well, let's just say my garage isn't in working order anymore."

Right. The Stadium had been crushed, buried under the rubble of the Palace. He folded his arms. "Well, maybe if he's in a good mood, Kleiver'll let you use his garage. 'Course, he'll probably want payment for the privilege."

Keira shrugged and gave him a wistful look. "It's not quite the same. Someone else's garage isn't mine, you know? I spent two years clawing my way up to that garage. Now...it's just gone."

She was quiet then, looking out the window over the desert. Sig didn't push it; clearly, she was still feeling the loss. Keira shifted a bit and said, "It's a lot prettier out here than you'd expect."

Sig glanced out the window himself. They were getting closer, flying lower to the ground. They'd just passed the river and Keira was staring at the waterfall cascading down. "Not like Haven, I'll tell you. Spend some time outside the city walls and you'll never want to go back."

Keira gave him a strange look. "Jak didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

She looked back out the window. "Jak, Daxter, and I didn't grow up around here," she explained. "We only came to Haven City a few years ago."

That was a surprise. One that made a lot of sense, now that Sig thought about it. Jak was definitely not a typical Havenite. He'd always chalked the teenager's strange bitterness and biting anger up to spending his formative years in prison. But, he mused, if Jak had grown up somewhere else and ended up in Haven City…

Well, free birds didn't like being caged.

"We don't belong here," Keira said suddenly. Sig raised an eyebrow at her. "We should've gone back home, but Daddy said we needed to stay here…"

She exhaled slowly and pushed her bangs out of her face. Sig noticed her face, a mixture of sadness and anger. "You okay, cherry?"

She shook her head. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Just...getting lost in my thoughts, you know? It's not like you can relate. Haven City's your home, it's where you come from. We...don't."

Sig folded his arms and smirked. "...Who said I was from Haven?" he remarked.

Keira stared at him. "No one, I guess. I just figured…"

"Nah, cherry." He looked out over the sands. On the horizon, you could make out the ruins of an ancient settlement, centuries old, the worn and crumbling stone standing against the morning sun. "I was born right here in the Wasteland."


Back before Spargus was a city in the desert, back when all that existed there was a bubbling volcano and old ruins, there were only two types of people in the Wasteland: Marauders and Nomads.

Marauders were strong, fighters to the very end, killing and taking what they needed. They were violent, but they never wanted for anything.

Nomads were the peaceful ones, the ones who grew and scavenged, who tried to continue a normal life when banished. They struggled and fought and, like plants that sprouted among the rocks, survived against all odds.

The Nomads lived in the ruins and oases that dotted the desert, hiding amongst the crumbling stone buildings. More than anything, their poverty kept them safe from other people: Marauders wouldn't kill them for their possessions, since they had none.

Nothing kept them safe from metal heads.

Sig was an in-between child: his father was a Marauder and his mother was a Nomad. His father hadn't stuck around; Marauders never did. So Sig lived as a Nomad, in a tiny, long-destroyed village with his mother. She made armor and traded it to the Marauders for whatever they needed. She was famous amongst them, because his mama could make armor out of anything. He remembered sitting on a broken stone, watching as she pounded molten metal into a form.

"Remember, chili pepper," she said in that soft, lyrical voice of hers. "Gotta take care of your armor. Take care of it, it'll take care of you."

As a child, she told him stories of the great hero, Mar, and the eco sages, and whatever else was etched in the walls of the ruins. At night, holding a stuffed bear she'd sewn him from their old clothes, he'd go to sleep to the tales of Mar. She would tuck the blankets around him and get a mug to drink yakow milk out of.

Sig always had trouble falling asleep. The yakow milk helped him ease into slumber, so his mama always made sure they had some. Even if she had to trade twice what it was actually worth.

He asked her if she'd ever been in the city they talked about. Mar's Haven. She'd shake her head, beads on the end of her braids chiming together, and remind him that she'd been born in the Wasteland, too.

"My papa's papa had lived in Haven City," she said. "I don't know why he was banished."

Not that Sig really cared. He didn't really want to live anywhere but the desert. His mama sometimes talked wistfully of the safety and security of walls, but Sig preferred the freedom he was born with.

When he was around ten or eleven, rumors sprouted up of a city in the desert, built in the ruins up north. At first, his mother hadn't really paid any attention; there were always people trying to build safety out here, but it always failed.

That is, until she heard that the city had been built by the Precursor monks and the banished heir of Mar. Then her eyes lit up and she started making plans. They left the ruins when he was fifteen, in search of a practically mythical city.

They found a lot of metal heads. Barely escaped sometimes, got scars and broken bones that never quite healed right. His mother would collapse sometimes, coughing from the dry sand and limited water. They found the caves that protected them from the sandstorms, found streams and hidden springs to get water. Found cacti and plants to eat.

But no city.

And then, just when he was about to give up and just accept that his mama had been too foolishly trustful of Mar, he found it.

Shining in the distance, burning a bright beacon, he saw it.

Halfway there, his mama collapsed again, weakly telling him to continue. That he deserved safety, even if she died for it.

But he didn't want safety for him. He wanted safety for his mother.

So Sig picked her up and carried her to the city she had so dreamed of.

When he arrived at Spargus, the monks whisked them away to the palace, pools of water swirling around, decadent in a way that resonated with desert folks. When he saw his mother open her eyes, smile and cry at the strong city around them, he almost cried himself.

Then Sig was brought in front of a king. This king didn't look like much; maybe because Sig had expected the heir of Mar to be someone with power and strength, he'd expected an old, wise, warrior of a man.

Instead he got a man who was only maybe twenty-five or so. He wasn't particularly intimidating, physically speaking. He was certain if he stood shoulder to shoulder with this king, Sig would definitely tower over him.

But, as he would learn, Damas' strength was subtle. He gave commands easily and confidently, expecting his word to be law and getting it in return. He had the kind of power that was earned, fought for and bled for. He was a mountain against a fierce, screaming wind.

Sig could respect that sort of strength.

He met the monks, with their peaceable ways and stern morality. His mama was a big fan of them, always reminding Sig to treat them with civility and respect. After all, she explained, they were the servants of the Precursors.

In Spargus, his mama set up a smith shop and sold her armor. Wastelanders always needed armor, Damas told him once. Out in the desert, armor got cracked and caked in sand, destroyed so easily. To find a good smith? Priceless.

Sig, though, was a fighter. He earned his battle amulet in the arena, became a citizen, fought his way into Damas' favor. Day after day, mission after mission, fight after fight. And before he knew it, he was the king's right-hand man, the one he confided in and relied on.

His mama was so proud of him. She was retired now, but she still had her dedicated customers, Damas being among them. She liked to poke fun at him whenever he came in to get his cracked or chipped armor repaired.

"The spikes might look intimidating," she teased, "but remember, chili pepper: a bullet doesn't care what your armor looks like, just what it's made of."

But she'd made it, just to his specifications, flawless and strong. "Comes with a lifetime guarantee," she told all her customers. Then, she'd give a fierce grin at them.

"Not that anything is guaranteed in this life."


Sig and Keira reached the city just before noon. "Alright, cherry, we're here," he said, gesturing for her to get out. "Welcome to Spargus, the forgotten city itself."

As they walked along the wall of the city, Keira seemed fascinated by the tall, bright torch that lit the sky from Spargus. She squinted up towards it, shading her eyes with her hand.

"It's a lot...more than I expected," she commented. "I can't believe a city like this has survived out here for so long!"

The doors of Spargus opened and Sig led her into the garage. He saw her look at the buggies before them, eyes shining with barely repressed longing. He cleared his throat and nodded his head forwards.

He'd been hoping to have Keira come in and get out before Damas noticed she was in the city. Any hope of that, however, was gone when he spotted the king himself, talking to Kleiver.

"...nasty sandstorm," Kleiver was saying. "Beacons didn't reach the comm tower. Not gonna lie, your lordship, I thought you and the youngling were done for."

Damas had his hands clasped behind his back. "We nearly were. These Dark Makers are formidable foes."

Kleiver scoffed. "We've been up against some rough fellows before. Get enough Wastelanders together and we can take 'em."

"Never underestimate an enemy," Damas reminded him. "Especially considering how little we know about these particular ones. If the old tales hold true, the Dark Makers have been the downfall of many others before us."

Kleiver looked like he was about to say something back, but it was then that Damas noticed the newcomers. He turned to Sig and tilted his chin up imperiously.

"Sig." His eyes slid to Keira, who put her hands on her hips. "Who is this?"

"Keira. She's a friend of Jak and Daxter." For a minute, Sig was sure Damas would blow a gasket, but he simply watched the newcomer carefully. "Mechanic from the big smoke."

Kleiver snorted derisively, but Damas shot him a look that silenced him.

"Why have you come to Spargus?" The king's gaze turned steady on her, but she didn't seem to be bothered by it. "This city is the home of the exiled...yet here you stand, a visitor in a strange land."

"It's not that strange," Keira said dryly. "Weirdest thing I've seen out here is whatever's sticking out of your head."

Damas frowned, affronted, and gently touched the spikes on his head. "It's a crown, and you would do well to remember who wears it." He folded his arms. "You still have not answered my question. Why are you here?"

Keira's courage seemed to falter a bit, but Sig had to give her credit: she still stared Damas down with all she had. "Just checking up on Jak."

Damas looked her up and down, as if he were appraising her. "...We in the Wasteland value survival above all else," he said finally. "Under normal circumstances, all those who set foot in Spargus must go through a combat trial. However…"

The king glanced up at the sky, at the purple spark that signaled the Dark Maker ship. "We...are not under normal circumstances. Spargus requires that all those inside it contribute to the good of the city. So long as you are valuable to my people, I will allow you to stay. Be thankful that our situation allows you leeway."

"Wow, how generous." Keira turned to Sig while Damas narrowed his eyes. "Can we go find Jak now?"

"Jak should be in the infirmary with Ionna," Damas said suddenly. He hardly seemed bothered by Keira's sardonic attitude. "I believe she's having him do his training there."

"Alright, cherry." Sig nodded towards the entrance of the city. "Let's get moving."


Keira hadn't expected the desert city to actually be...well, a city.

Jak had a tendency to sugarcoat things; he didn't like people to worry about him. When she'd ask him what he had for dinner, it was like pulling teeth to get him to admit that, okay, it was just sunflower seeds and water from the port, but it was food, right?

Or the time he'd dragged himself into her garage, arm bleeding profusely and leg bent at a strange angle. She'd helped patch him up, gotten him some green eco. When she asked what happened, he'd just grunted, "Trouble with some KGs. I'm fine, it doesn't even hurt."

So when he'd told them he found a city in the desert, she'd expected...well, some small little village, at most. More like a collection of tents with a few other banished criminals hanging around.

But this place was an actual city, with actual infrastructure. As Sig led her through, she spotted a thriving bazaar, bustling with early risers, haggling over prices and trades. There were irrigation pipes haphazardly attached to the walls, clearly makeshift, but working all the same.

No Zoomers, she noticed, but the fact was hardly surprising. After all, in this kind of heat? A Zoomer would need at least a moderate heat shield in order to function properly. Plus, some kind of protection from the sand, too. Ugh, if only she could get her hands on those vehicles she'd seen, maybe she could construct some kind of desert-suitable Zoomer and then—

"We're here, cherry." Sig's voice interrupted her thoughts. They were in front of a door, identical to those around it. If he hadn't stopped, Keira never would've thought it was anything special.

A bell above the door jingled as they stepped inside. It was definitely an infirmary, with beds and curtains lining one wall. On the other side, washing something in the basin in a counter, a woman looked over at them.

She wasn't young; her face was creased with laugh lines and worry wrinkles. But, as Keira looked closer, she didn't seem old, either. Sure, her hair was a shocking, almost-white color. But she didn't move like Onin or Samos did, with aching bones and a hunched back. In fact, as she moved towards them, she had a certain vitality to her that seemed almost youthful.

"Morning, Ionna," Sig greeted. "Good to see you again."

"The same to you." Ionna raised an eyebrow at them both. "Isn't she a bit young for you?"

"Ha ha." Sig folded his arms, while Ionna wiped her hands on a rag. "Keira here belongs to Jak and Daxter. You seen 'em around anywhere?"

Ionna jerked her head towards the clock that hung on the wall. "They're due in about ten minutes."

Due here? Keira glanced around the building.

It looked remarkably sterile, considering the environment. The stone floor didn't have a single spec of sand lying on it, and the walls were whitewashed with what she assumed was lye. All the countertops and tables had an immaculate sheen to them, as if they were frequently cleaned.

It certainly didn't seem like the type of place Jak would hang around in his spare time, but Jak had always surprised her.

"...can't believe Damas let her in without an arena battle," Ionna was saying. Keira refocused on what she was saying. "That's certainly a change in demeanor for him."

"He'd got bigger things to worry about." Sig leaned against the counter. "Speaking of which, how's it going out here?"

Keira listened intently. Ionna leaned against the counter next to Sig and sighed. "The Day Star is getting closer," she told him. "Not that anyone is any closer to finding that damned artifact. Not to mention, more of those satellites keep falling from the sky."

"Any more in the city?"

Ionna shook her head, her braid swinging behind her back. "No, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time. They won't ignore Spargus forever. When the time comes to defend our city, I hope we're up to the task."

"Don't you guys have a shield wall?" Keira blurted out. Ionna and Sig both gave her amused looks. "What's with that face?"

Sig shook his head, grinning. "Listen, cherry, Haven has a lot of resources available. Mines, eco wells, factories…"

"Out here, we're a bit behind the times, technologically speaking," Ionna explained patiently. "We don't have an eco grid or anything like that. Nothing but ourselves and our weapons to protect us."

Keira must've looked shocked, because Sig laughed. "Havenites. Softer than bread."

"Well, we can't all be crazy desert people," Keira huffed. Ionna laughed. "I'm just saying, it's really surprising that a city can survive out in the Wasteland without even a shield wall."

"Surprising, perhaps," Ionna admitted. "But we have little choice. And besides, for all his faults, Damas knows how to survive in war."

Their conversation was cut off by the sound of the bell jingling and a loud voice carrying through the room.

"If you don't wanna support my dream, that's fiiiine by me," Daxter was saying. "I'll run the Taste of Wasteland all by myself. Tessie'll help me."

"I just can't figure out why you're calling it Taste of Wasteland, if it's a souvenir shop." Jak's voice was a lot lower, but she recognized it all the same. Strange, since she'd only really heard him speak this past year. "What are they supposed to be tasting?"

"It's metaphorical taste, genius!"

"What does that even mean?!"

Jak and Daxter appeared, stopping short when they saw her. For just a second, Jak blinked in surprise, looking so much like the boy she'd grown up with. "K-Kiera?"

"Jak! Daxter!" She almost ran up and hugged him, but remembered how much he disliked being hugged nowadays. She hung back instead, clapping her hands together. "I'm so glad to see you!"

"Yeah, me, too…" He stepped forward hesitantly. "What are you doing all the way out here?"

"I just wanted...to see you…" Now that she was out here, actually face to face with Jak, it seemed kind of stupid. "To make sure you were okay."

"We're fine," Daxter said. "So good, we're even makin' business plans. Real quick, Keira, would you buy a bottle of exotic sand, carefully cultivated in a premium bottle made with the finest glass?"

"Would I pay for a jar of dirt? No." Keira folded her arms, but couldn't help but smile. "It's great to see you, too, Daxter."

"You came all the way out here just to visit?" Jak asked. "And...Damas was okay with that?"

"Sure. Don't you know no one can resist my charming demeanor?" she teased. Sig snorted loudly, but didn't say anything. "Anyway, I can only stay for a few days. Daddy...um, well, he doesn't know I came all the way out here."

And she certainly didn't want to be around when he found out. Her father had an overprotective streak, despite all she'd accomplished in the years without him. Then again, maybe that was why he had an overprotective streak.

"You shouldn't have done that." Ionna's voice came from behind them. Keira blinked at her as she stepped towards them, a sad sort of look on her face. "A parent should never have to worry about whether their child will make it home."

The room grew awkward in its silence; clearly, there was something Keira was missing. Jak looked down at his shoes, obviously uncomfortable. Daxter winced and muttered something about spikes, and Sig placed a hand on Ionna's shoulder.

"Don't you and Jak have something to do?" he asked gently. "Maybe you oughta get to it."

"Of course." All melancholy forgotten, Ionna moved briskly to a shelf, where jars were neatly lined up. She pulled one off and went to Jak. "Your friend may be here, but there is no time to slack off. Let's begin."

"Right." Jak took the jar from her and shot Keira a mischievous grin. "Wanna see something cool?"