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After subduing the small crew, we continued our journey east. The pod we had used to get this far had been damaged in the grip of the crane, so the somewhat less subtle Caliphate raid ship has to suffice. It's going to be difficult to explain what we're doing with it when we dock in Nayre territory, provided they don't blast us out of the water first. The captain is huddled behind the protective barrier on the deck by the control panel with Suraokh; he ended up sticking her with his needles too, but it didn't seem to be fatal, thankfully. She's lost quite a bit of her original fervor though, that's for sure. Before long, I grow tired of sitting around. I spent some time modifying my macana a little more and even searing a little pattern onto it once I was satisfied with its shape. But there's still more that could be done for it. "Suraokh," I say, standing up, "I'm going below to look around."

The doll nods without turning, and then I head for the hatch. Suraokh already rooted out the two soldiers that had been hiding down there. I couldn't convince him not to kill them. I know that, as a Xeeok, I shouldn't be bothered by death, but I personally feel like there should be a better reason than precaution for it. If they had attacked us, rather than begged, I might not have thought much about it. I drop down, not even touching the ladder, and then turn again to look around at the various things secured onto their shelves by cables and bungee cords. Closest to the hatch, it's mainly just ammunition and small arms. Further in is various plunder, presumably taken from other ships. The splash of color present on all of it hints that they may be Nayre goods. In one of the open boxes, there's some money that nobody will be using. I flip through it briefly; it's about a decent amount of lachryma; enough to keep fed for a few days. With a shrug, I pocket it; maybe it'll come in handy. In the back, there's a very large weapon strapped to a workbench. It's a scrapper; in essence, an unconventional massive chainsaw made for battle, equipped with forked teeth to be better at splintering bones. Each tooth is replaceable thanks to a box magazine and loading system. It's too unwieldy for me, but it may have just the thing I need to finish my macana. I pop open the detached magazine to find it still fairly full. The teeth come divided into two parts, one with a slot, and one with a tab, but I only need the tabbed ones. I set aside a stack, and bring my weapon up onto the bench. Conjuring a hair-thin rift, I carve out a slot to feed a tab into. It takes quite a bit of shoving with various tools, but that's good; it'll be harder to dislocate it. After some time, I make it fit. The adhesive I added to the back of the tab should allow it to hold even more nicely. I repeat the process with several others, lining them up and pointing them at the base of the narrow face of the weapon to create a serrated edge. The last tooth, at the tip, points forward instead, and I've left the other edge toothless. I want to make sure I have a nonlethal approach to things too; I'd prefer it, actually, but it never hurts to have an extra scary object on hand.

With that done, I return to the deck, to find smoke rising in the distance. I rush up to Suraokh, not quite understanding why we're headed directly for it.

"What is that?" I ask, pointing at it.

The captain answers me in his stead. "A conflict. We were on our way to fight." She chuckles slightly, raising her head as though to look at me, had she not been blinded. "My crew would have done well if your Aberration hadn't killed them."

I don't have anything to say to that; I'm still too unnerved by his brutal efficiency to find any solace in the fact that it's been used in my favor. It's odd though, that he has such a cheap lexicon device for his caliber.

"What kind of project did your maker have in mind that they needed a whole life-sized kangaroo doll?" I ask him.

"You would be very surprised," Suraokh replies.

He is right, I would be. Moving that thought aside for a different time, I address the captain again. "How long has this been going on?"

"Only two days; we used the cover of the storm to gain the upper hand," she explains. "There is little honor in it, but there is even less honor to be found among Nayrean military."

"I find their devotion admirable," Suraokh interjects. As a loyal servant of something, himself, he would feel that way. "Their empress is beyond cruel. But they love her, regardless."

"That's called learned helplessness," the captain retorts.

"It keeps them in line. They learned to tolerate it."

"They shouldn't have to."

The doll shrugs, as he often does.

No more words were spoken for some time, but the tension between the captain and Suraokh practically manifested as audible static. The only thing that could overpower it was the sound of the battle we quickly approached, most notably the sound of powerful motors propelling more raid ships towards us. They weren't Caliphate ships; the generous helpings of red and white coloring the hull marked them as Dominion forces. I was almost relieved, until I remembered the black, green-striped hull that probably prompted them to come for us in the first place.

"Suraokh, do you have a plan for this?" I shout above the noise. "We could really use one!"

He scratches at the left side of his chest, undoing a zipper set into one of his seams and pulling out a small booklet bound with cracked leather and tosses it to me. I fumble with it as I barely manage to catch it without dropping it. I open it quickly; it's his verification papers. He's registered himself as an undead citizen of the Dominion, and has been all the way back from... early last Age. He's over five centuries old, and these papers are up to date. But I can be amazed about that later.

"Take my papers to them," he tells me. "They will not kill us."

"What do I tell them, exactly?" I ask.

"You will have to improvise. This will be somewhat frantic."

I groan in exasperation. Last time he sent me out to meet someone, my guts almost ended up on the deck. Still, I'd rather not put up with any explosions today so I'll take my chances with evisceration. By no means have I gotten used to it, but it's something I know I can recover from. I'm not so sure if rising from my ashes is something I can manage. The Dominion ships drift around us in semicircles, flanking the ship. Several soldiers stand on board, readying spells in their hands with which to bombard us. Clutching the booklet, I run up to the starboard edge of our deck and leap. I'm not the most physically outstanding Xeeok I know, far from it. But I've always been a pretty good leaper. Bolts of magical lightning arc past me to strike our commandeered vessel, causing my fur to stand on end, but not one connects. I hit the other deck and roll, landing prostrate, one hand over my head and the other stretched out in front of me, holding the booklet. I wince as a boot comes down on my wrist-- that's twice I've been stepped on today -and the booklet is taken from me.

"What is the meaning of this?" the officer demands.

"He's steering the Caliphate boat; we took it over and we just need to land," I explain quickly. "We've got the captain." He lightens up on me just a little, but doesn't step off quite yet. "Hold your fire!" he bellows, and then gestures at two of the soldiers. "Go check the ship out. If you find a kangaroo, return this to him." He hands the nearest one the license, sends them over, and then steps off of me. "You're staying over here," he states.

"Fine with me," I respond, sitting up very slowly. "Thank you for not killing me on sight."

He doesn't stay long enough to hear me finish expressing my gratitude; the vulpine officer adjusts his red sash and storms off, long white coat whirling around him as he reprimands some of the soldiers that haven't quite finished dissipating their spells.

After about a minute, one of the soldiers returns, reporting to the commander and affirming that the ship formerly belonging to the enemy is not a threat.

"We'll get the survivors on a fortified ship," the officer says. "Everyone has to be evacuated." As the soldier moves along, the officer turns to me and walks closer to pull me to my feet. "And where is your license?" he asks.

"I... I have none," I say. "I lost everything in the storm, sir." I suppose it is better that way; Raazdu papers might not have gotten a good response from him either in this trying time, even if our states aren't on such bad terms anymore.

He glowers at me for a moment, but then sighs. "Fine. Head to the cabin and find yourself a corner. We'll come get you once we've docked." "Thank you, sir." I bow respectfully and head off. The interior of the cabin is well-organized, with a few beds to one side and some shelves and benches to the other. I take a seat in one of the corners as instructed and wait until we reach the harbor. I find it a little curious that nobody followed to watch me; I could be going through all their things if I wanted to. I spy a suit of armor among the shelves; a very old model that hasn't been manufactured in at least an Age. As I inspect it, it shifts slightly and then backs off. Its staggering movements give the impression of either an Aberration or someone with a bad hangover. I'm going to play it safe and guess the former. So they do have a security measure after all.

A lapin soldier opens the door, beckoning me. I stand quickly and follow him out, wobbling on my feet as the ship veers to the right, along the edge of the island with such speed that the words on the signs are a blur. Not that I could read them myself; my Ssemba is good enough to get by but I still have to take it slow when reading. I'm digressing again. Just looking for something to think about other than the fact that we're passing through a war zone and could be capsized at any time. But at least that's unlikely until Caliphate ships are in sight of us. "Enemies sighted!" someone shouts, no sooner than I finish that thought. I wonder what I did to upset the gods today. It was probably the fact that a demonic body pillow told me to steal a blessing and I actually did it. What was I thinking? The sable ships arrive bringing flame and smoke in their wake, hiding them from the eyes of the mages around me until they were able to come right alongside us. The ship rocked as a synchronized pulse of force from many casters struck, nearly tipping us over. I hastily dashed for the side of the cabin, grabbing onto one of the many belaying hooks. Several of the crew did the same, but thankfully the precaution turned out to be unneeded; the deck swayed level again without any of loss of personnel.

Suraokh's ship comes up on our port side to take the lead, with a Nayrean crest freshly burned into the green of the hull to differentiate it from the attackers. As it does so, the ship starboard of us peels away. I spend but a moment wondering why, before another ship sacrifices itself by accelerating and slamming into the docks just ahead of Suraokh and his surprise crew. For a brief moment, I believe we're all going to crash, but then everything shrinks into a single point of light and color, before expanding outwards again, as it does, I find we've left the crashed enemy vessel in our wake. The rest of the crew seems just as dumbfounded as I am by this; an absurd level of power would be needed to not only teleport two ships, but the crews of each as well. It had to be Suraokh, I don't believe any of the soldiers could have done this. My pulse races even as we leave the obstructing ship behind. The past minute has filled me with greater panic than... actually no, I'm not sure where I was going with that. I've been panicking this whole time and as much as I'd like to stop, I don't see that happening anytime soon.

There is, however, an ampoule of relief to be collected when a large, armored craft appears in the distance, several people in the process of boarding it. The dismay returns all at once as I realize that they are scrambling, the soldiers already aboard firing rounds into the crowd at the advance of sword-wielding assailants clad in green and gray; elite forces just like our captive captain. While a sword does, no matter how many thousands of times it's been folded, seem like a poor choice of weapon to bring against a force that carries rifles, it's difficult to compete with a sword in its effectiveness of bringing down the unarmed at close range. It isn't long before only a single attacker remains, the others having succumbed already to the rain of serrated rounds that carved out their insides. But she doesn't run. All sights are on her but she continues to cut down those that flee. Bit by bit, the crowd sinks closer and closer to total silence before multiple shots rip through the air, through her armor, and into her chest, causing her to drop to the asphalt with all the grace of a soaked bath towel. And soaked she was; between herself and her cohorts, they must have butchered two dozen people each, at least. They weren't the elite for nothing. But in the end, bullets are bullets and they don't care how many badges a person wears.

Our ship rounds the bend to the barge, soldiers leaping onto land and taking defensive positions. Suraokh's ship stays out of view, probably for the best, and everyone disembarks from there, sprinting towards the barge. The officer I traveled with steps forward to Suraokh as he approaches, his expression becoming one of confusion as he notices for the first time that the kangaroo from the picture, while lifelike enough in a photograph, is assembled from fabric and thread. I half-expected him to make a remark on it, but he dismissed any thoughts and simply got down to business.

"I have to insist that you turn your captive over to me," he demands.

The kangaroo nods, guiding her forward by the arm. "I have a single request. Do not harm her unnecessarily."

"But of course," the officer agrees. "We're not like them; we'll see to it she gets a trial before we decide her fate."

"Very well, I relinquish her." Suraokh does nothing else but step away, give the fox a nod, and walk towards the barge.

"Wait a moment," the fox says, turning slightly. "What exactly are you?" I guess his thoughts didn't really go anywhere; they merely waited their turn.

"I am a legal citizen," Suraokh replies, stopping in his tracks. "I always renew my papers."

"And so you've kept them up-to-date... for the past five centuries. That's how long ago you became a citizen. Your age really doesn't show..."

"I take care of myself. I brush my fabric often. I keep my eyes shiny. Even replaced broken zippers occasionally."

"I... have no further questions. As far as I can tell, you're not sided with the Caliphate; you've done a great service for us in our efforts against them, and that's good enough for me. Travel safe."

"Thank you, captain, I will." On that note, he ends their little interaction and continues walking in my direction. As he passes by, he gives me a little nod. "Let's leave this place."

"Of course," I say, still yet to catch my breath. "I've only just gotten here and already I've had enough."

Jaunting after him, we take our place on the barge, amidst the masses, who are even more shaken up than we are, some even crying, held back by soldiers from running to the sopping shreds of people whose names they only moments ago had been calling out. I tune it out over minutes until the barge begins to carry us off, while I stare at the gray sea, and towards the colorful stars of the holy worlds that begin to show themselves in the evening sky.

And, if I'm not forgetting anything, I believe that brings us to now