nexus_sages | Enter the (Ex-)Imperator.

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Enter the (Ex-)Imperator.

There's a woman at the edge of the Parklands, knee-deep in grass. She looks like a soldier, one arm a metal prosthetic, a skull-shaped brand marking the nape of her neck, a machete in a sheath at her hip, and possibly other weapons hidden on her person. She's dirty, stained with dust and oil, and tension sings along the lines of her back and shoulders. Like she's waiting to be attacked.

At the same time, though, there's a distinctly misty look in her eyes as she stares out over the field before her. Flowers. Insects. Streams and lakes. Maybe she's hallucinating. Maybe she's dead.

She has one question, though, because beauty is so often a trap: "Is this water safe?"

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Fallout? Ah. Ah. You'll want scrubber caps.

*Samus answers Furiosa's thanks with a smile and starts walking, trusting the other woman to keep pace on the trek through the Nexus.*

Well, I've seen simple versions that detect the nerve impulses through your skin, and move the limb as your natural limb would move, or actual implants that also give sensory feedback.

*The multiverse is your buffet, Furiosa, and apparently the future has an amazing dessert bar.*

She raises an eyebrow at that statement, hoping there's something in the library to explain some of this lingo. The way Samus is coming out with solutions makes it all sound so simple, and Furiosa can't imagine the logistics would be that easy, even if the solutions are elementary on other worlds, even if they're offered to her freely and generously.

She'd still have to explain to her people what the hell is going on.

But that can wait, for now. "I wish I could explain more fully, but even our history is garbled these days. All I know for certain is there were Oil Wars, then Water Wars, and then the nuclear exchanges that poisoned most of what the other wars hadn't already."

Maybe her next priority should be to find a History Man. How can they know where they're going if they're not sure where they've been?

Her brows knit, and she rubs the brace of the prosthetic uncertainly. 'Implants' sounds unsettling, but...worth it? Maybe. "I can't use anything too delicate. It would have to be very, very strong."

Ah, sorry, scrubber caps are something we have where I'm from--mushrooms that eat radiation. Stations and larger ships grow them in the outer hull and around the power core, as a supplemental food source and an early warning sign for leaks.

*Inspired by a real thing. At the description of societal collapse, Samus nods. She's heard stories like that before.*

I wish I could say stories like that aren't common.

*The expression of desire for a "strong" prosthetic sends a twitch of amusement tugging at Samus' lips before she locks it down.*

I don't imagine strength will be a problem. Or there are people who can grow your arm back, if you'd rather.

*By this time, they've reached the Nexus Library. A humble, unassuming brick building (at least, this side of it is), its doors open on a sheltered foyer, which in turn opens on... far too large a space, packed with orderly shelves, to fit in the building outside. An enormous owl sits at a desk, reading, and gives the pair only a brief glance at their entry.*

Furiosa shrugs grimly. "Everthing dies in time. Worlds included. I'm not surprised."

Her gaze on Samus is deadpan, analyzing rather than emoting, for the moment. Furiosa doesn't like being out of her depth, but that seems to be inevitable here. So she'll just focus on perfecting her poker face.

"I wouldn't rather," she answers quietly. "I lost it when I was a child, along with other things more valuable that I'll never get back. I'll stick with a prosthesis."

She follows the other woman calmly into the building, then pauses, regarding the owl without expression, then scanning the overlarge internal structure of the room around her. Her right hand comes up, rubs the back of her neck, and she turns and steps back outside.

Pardon her while she scans the edifice a second time, squinting, then comes back in and resigns herself to the strangeness. "Hm. All right."

*Samus gives a slight nod at Furiosa's explanation of her preference, and makes a small admission of her own. Perhaps some sense of kinship will help the newcomer understand her motives.*

I lost my family when I was four.

*It's a brief admission, a moment of vulnerability, and then she's back to her cool, cosmopolitan self.*

I've seen mil-spec prosthetics that could peel the hull plates off a Federation cruiser bare-handed, but for something like that you'd need a few other body-mods so it didn't tear off the first time you flexed too hard.

*Samus remembers her own adjustment to the geometric impossibilities of the Nexus, so there's neither scorn nor amusement in her expression when Furiosa returns. Straight to business.*

Water treatment, first?

Something softens subtly, tension easing at least momentarily in the rigid line of Furiosa's shoulders and spine, and her gaze flicks groundward. She gives a neutral hum, acknowledging the confession--it puts a better spin on things, that show of mutual humanity. And after brief consideration, she raises her right hand, curls it in the air as if clasping something invisible (memory? sorrow? empathy?), then brings it to her sternum.

She says nothing further of it, but she seems slightly less prickly when she does resume the conversation. "...I think I caught most of that. I'd prefer as few body mods as possible, but I'll keep it in mind."

She's already a terror with just her bare left elbow to punch with; she doesn't think she needs the additional intimidation factor of being able to peel back plate metal. On the other hand, the Blackthumbs might benefit from some help of that nature. She doesn't have to decide now.

If Samus had an explanation to offer in regards to the library, Furiosa wouldn't understand it, so she's just as glad to have the moment of confusion passed gently over. This time, she flashes a small smile. "Yes. Thank you."

As an afterthought, she adds: "I can read some Latin, a little Greek, and a very little Japanese, but I'm mostly just good for English. If that makes a difference."

*If pressed, Samus would have told more of the story. As it is, though, she's much happier not having to. The moment of shared understanding is enough. There are other, easier topics to discuss.*

Probably a good idea. Body mods can be a slippery slope; to get the performance you want out of one thing, you need half a dozen others, and for all of them to work right, and if you want to perform just a little bit better, one more, and one more, and so on. Better to know when to stop.

*The stacks of shelves through which they walk are an eclectic collection of neatly-ordered documents. Bundles of scrolls share space with leatherbound books, etched tablets of stone casting shadows on slabs of crystal in whose depths layers of letters faintly glow. And "stacks" is very much the right term, as the walkway echoes hollowly beneath their feet, while glimpses of the cracks around its edges afford views of more layers of shelves below and above. Periodically, they pass a spiral staircase descending and ascending, usually decorated with a fern or piece of art. There's an odd feeling of pulsing as they walk, as well, as if the shelves were rearranging themselves while not being watched, a rhythmic clench-and-relax that is felt in the gut and glimpsed in the edges of the eye.*

That's good to know. The Nexus translates while you're here, usually, but for anything you're going to bring home... oh, if anything with tentacles or a bunch of yellow clothes offers you something to read, don't take it.

*The Hunter moves with purpose through the stacks, and some degree of familiarity. She seems to know where to find what she's looking for, and before too terribly long (how does one even mark the passage of time in that strange place?) stops to pull a thick book from a shelf. The title reads, "Reed Bed Construction and Waste Management." She offers it to Furiosa.*

I think this might have a few ideas for you.

If their acquaintanceship continues on this same track, they may have the opportunity to swap stories later on. Even painful stories. Time will tell.

"I feel like the scars and tattoos are modification enough for me," she says, distracted as her gaze sweeps the stacks around them. "Given I didn't ask for most of them."

She breathes a sigh of fascination, looking around avidly. On the one hand, it's a little unsettling, this scent of paper and cool quiet. A bit too much like the Vault. On the other hand...books. The vastness of knowledge here is incredible. Miss Giddy would have loved a place like this.

"...tentacles?" It's a delayed response, and she gives Samus a quizzical look. "I'll keep that in mind."

She accepts the book gratefully, pausing to study the pictures of some of the wildlife on the jacket. "Yes. I'll read this. I don't think I've seen any bird for ages, other than vultures and crows. I suppose they must be eating something, but animals are few and far between."

*Indeed. Time reveals as many secrets as it keeps.*

Can't fault your thinking, there.

*The bit about tentacle-things was meant as friendly warning. The Nexus is mostly safe, but it can't protect people from the things they do to themselves, and some Things like to lay out bait for just that reason.*

Get something like that going, you might start attracting the ones that're left. The smell of water carries a long way.

"Mostly rats and lizards around. Some bugs, spiders..." her voice trails off as she flips through the pages of the book. There's a softer smile on her lips now, but the further she scans, the more alert and bright her eyes grow.

After only a couple minutes of this, she sits suddenly, holding the book in her lap carefully. "This would be a lot of effort. But if we could make it work, it would work on a larger scale than just the Towers."

"The place I was born was like this once. Clean water, trees, animals. Something poisoned it, but if it could be restored..." That would be worth more than she has the words for, and she's a little dazed just by the possibility.

*Samus smiles as well, watching Furiosa's reaction, and remains quiet to let her read.*

I've got no doubt you can make it work. If the rest of your people are even half as determined as you?

It won't be an easy project. For one thing, there's a lot of distance between the bog that was the Green Place and the Citadel. A lot of opportunity for fighting and injury and death just traveling to and from. It'll take political savvy, not just engineering know how. But they can practice the technique on their own ground, maybe, and proceed from there.

There's no doubt in her mind the other Vuvalini will be interested.

Furiosa breaks into a thoughtful smile and refocuses on Samus slowly. "Thank you."

Might be thanks for the compliment or for the information. Probably both.

*Samus didn't promise easy, and Furiosa didn't ask for it. But hope, and a way forward, however hard? She answers the former Imperator's smile with one of your own.*

You're welcome.

*She indicates the book.*

So. Think that's enough new ideas to drop on your people at once?

"Definitely a start. I can take it with me? Bring it back later?"

She seems to recall libraries working that way, once upon a time, but the owl at the front desk had a very sharp beak. She's not interested in picking a fight.

*She nods.*

You'll have to stop by the desk, tell whoever's there that you're taking it, who you are, and broadly where you're from, but that's it.

This strikes Furiosa as remarkably trusting. She stands, nodding in acknowledgement, and cradles the book to her chest like it's the key to healing the world. Which it might be, in some small way, or at least a key to repairing her little corner of it.

Now, of course, she'll have to figure a way home, but that will come sooner or later. She has a bit more exploring to do first. "I'll do that. Will I be seeing you again?"

This is her awkward way of both taking leave and offering friendship, in one breath.

*Samus nods, offering a small smile. She knows that look in her new friend's eye.*

I'm around the Nexus on a fairly regular basis. I shouldn't be hard to find, if you'd like to talk again, sometime. And until then, good hunting.

"And to you as well." There's a fleeting smile and a grateful nod, before she turns and departs.

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Enter the (Ex-)Imperator.

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