Dara, Page, and the Secrets of the Multiverse

▷ 5.1

Dara's steps were light, creeping across the jungle as fast as their hands and ankles enabled them. Pink morning light shone past the sparse line of trees, guiding their way towards the scrapyard. The wind carried the smell of oxidized oil, wafting through the foliage even from miles away. They wrinkled their nose, tightening the knot of the cloth tied at the back of their head. The light body suit courtesy of the basecamp would prove enough to ward off most of the toxic chemicals from crashed skycrafts and scapeships.

It was a fine morning for scavenging, and from the radar reports at dawn, something big waited for them. The counselor would have the time of their life as soon as Dara was done. From the fluxes in GK waves, the ship's core would be made of toprium, or better yet, vastryan. Both would fetch attractive prices in the undermarket, and Dara was poised to take a good portion from the selling price.

Perhaps they would finally buy that pastry from the nearby basecamp, one that boasted dessicated coconuts mixed with milk. Dairy was the hardest substance to come by in this region, mostly because of the dwindling resources and the heightening fluxes of radiation and other chemicals farm animals wouldn't thrive on.

Dara hoped for vastryan. It has been a while since they saw such a rare element. Harvested from the heart of dying stars, just the production cost would be triple the amount of everything Dara had made all their life. Fashioning a core out of it and powering an entire skycraft from it would drive its price higher.

They had to get there. Fast. Before the other basecamps detected it with their sensors.

Part of the allure of Dara's basecamp was that it was the nearest to Region 49A. The rim of the forest came to view a few minutes from setting out, giving way to an expansive clearing with a massive caldera in the middle.

It has never been this way before. Region 49A was a bustling rainforest, thriving from seasonal but often torrential rains. The entire plateau used to burst with life some years ago, but some freak accident involving an enormous scapeship burned the heart to the caldera that it was. Something must have been in that scapeship, because soon, the residue contaminants killed off major plant life in its immediate radius and pulled clueless skycrafts down by messing with their navigation readings. The fog rising from the mountains and canopies didn't help either.

Within a few years, Region 49A became a crash hotspot. That meant Sivr-id opportunists like the counselor flocked to the crash site, stripping every tragedy of everything that could fetch a hearty amount of hreed, no matter which type of market they end up in. Their race was nothing more than scavengers and servants, and for Dara, hunting for skycraft parts was better than being pushed around in a fancy Rohai-rau basecamp. Freedom before honor—that was their entire philosophy.

Dara dug the radar from their pocket, slapping the side to force it to recalibrate. The radioactive haze still fizzled the displays, but they caught a sliver before the display glitched. Outer Quadrant 1, so that meant...somewhere closer to the rim of the caldera, just on the other side. That was a far trek.

They leaped past the caldera's edge, thumping soundlessly against the compact soil. The stale oil burned only stronger, threatening to colonize their entire nasal cavity despite the makeshift mask. Maybe they'd use their earnings to buy a radiation shield or something. They hissed and purged ahead. It would be over faster if they start sooner.

The crash site bled into view after more than half an hour of rounding skeletons of past crashes already picked to the metal girdings, leaving nothing for others to benefit from. Among similar fates of dented metal and shards of glass jutting towards each other, the most recent vehicle looked right at home. It was small—the size of a skycraft—but was built like a scapeship. One to two people. Maximum. Dara hoped they were dead, or if they were alive, a Sivr-id, like them. It would make negotiations easier. Plus, they couldn't take the smell here anymore.

With the metal creaking underneath their weight, Dara clambered towards the skycraft's smashed window, using their hind legs to edge their body up. Their tail slapped some of the shards on their way into the hull. Pain stung the sensitive tufts of hair, making them hiss. That was all there was to it, though. It'd heal.

Their steps turned lighter against the skycraft's velvety floor. Careful to not step on wayward shards, they crept towards the pilot seat. Green limbs splotched with purple splayed past the chair's back, giving it a spooky makeover. Eyes squinting, Dara reached out and swiveled the seat. Green skin, gills on both sides of the neck, and a thicker tail squashed by its owner's entire weight.

A Viz'ni.

Dara poked the Viz'ni's shoulder. Their finger sank into tender flesh, the skin around it turning purple. When they let go, the green bounced off, chasing any traces of purple to nothingness. Huh. Still warm. They waved a hand in front of the Viz'ni's face. It remained still. Not quite warm, then.

Before Dara could check the Viz'ni's respiration, the eyes snapped open and the head leveled towards them.

Uncharacteristic of a Sivr-id, Dara screamed.