~*~*~ OOTU ~*~*~

  After Ootu had made sure the door to his quarters was locked, he stripped. Then he went to the far wall and opened a hidden panel. While the rest of his space was a chaos of discarded samples, half-filled notebooks, and a collection of rocks that would make a geologist weep, he was fastidious about what lay hidden in that wall.

  He lifted the blue and silver box out of its compartment and settled down in front of his mirror. His reflection showed a body riddled with sockets and ports and criss-crossing seams where synthetic flesh met original skin. He gently probed the connection points, checking for leakage.

  "Time for some maintenance," he muttered to himself.

  There had been a time when a friendly tech had performed these check-ups. Stella, that had been her name. But she had been one of the first to come down with the Seep. That's when he had realized that he would have to keep exposing himself to new techs. That hadn’t sat right with him, so he'd taught himself how to self-service his synthetic parts.

  And while he was quite adept at it, things were beginning to fall apart.

  He touched the white disc embedded below his collarbone, its hole covered in hair-thin filaments. It was his third replacement after losing the first one to acid fog on Uudi IV and the second one to that regrettable dive into Alamahan Nought's electrolyte pools.

  His augmented left eye whirred softly as he adjusted its focus, responding more sluggishly. Its murky green iris, which didn't quite match his natural brown eye, contracted a little too late.

  "Come on," he coaxed, tapping the orbital socket. "Don't fail me now. We've got a hangar full of technophobes to befriend by dawn."

  Hub Chief Ayan's instructions had been clear: meet the Torchers in Hangar 4D and get to know them before they set off. The problem was, although Ootu theoretically knew how to build rapport with people, he'd lost the blueprints long ago.

  Anyway, those Torchers would probably start chanting spells of protection against the dreaded machine-man. Ah well, it couldn’t be helped. He sighed as he bent to lubricate his left knee.

  When he had finished, he returned the box to its compartment, then gathered his duffle bag. The familiar weight of his favourite gear returned the cheer to his face. Some of its contents he'd built, some he'd borrowed, some he'd stolen outright, but with the full intention of returning if anyone bothered to ask.

  Just one more adventure, he told himself as he left his quarters. Then he’d settle down and write a memoir to make the Institute for Frontier Sciences choke on their tenure denials.

  The glass cover of the residential block walkway displayed the beauty of Kabus in all its glory. It was a Long-Glow Night, with strong planetshine from a gibbous Mosogon casting everything in a surreal purple light. It was Ootu’s favourite type of night, when the more interesting biologies happened.

  The Hub itself was quiet. A small group of staff passed him, giving knowing looks as if they'd already heard about his new assignment. He smiled but didn't wave. Out on the frontier, news traveled fast and friendships were fickle.

  When they had gone, he paused to look out the window. A speck of movement down by the perimeter had caught his eye. A figure was pushing through the gate and entering the scrub jungle beyond. Ootu activated his left eye’s zoom lens. The figure was a young man carrying what appeared to be a water container.

  Interesting. His walking difficulties suggested recent stasis emergence. One of the Torchers, perhaps, but if so then likely a novice. Experienced Torchers were not known to be careless enough to wander alone at night shortly after landing.

  Ootu hurried down the walkway and out through the door, emerging into Kabus' humid air. The spore releases were strong tonight and he inhaled deeply, his augmented immune system processing the barrage without concern. The perimeter gate was still ajar. Beyond it, the high-canopy fronds were unfurling their soft-light surfaces, the undersides glowing a fuzzy dark blue-green.

  He passed through the gate and followed the footprints through the increasingly dense undergrowth, careful to minimize his impact on the sensitive ecosystem. By the time he caught up with the young man, the maybe-Torcher was sitting against what looked like a rock formation.

  It wasn't a rock. Even in the planetshine-dappled dimness, Ootu could see it preparing for its nightly feeding cycle, digestive enzymes visible as a filmy sheen.

  "I wouldn't sit there if I were you," he called out.

  The young man tensed, his eyes flicking around to check if Ootu was alone. "Why?" he asked slowly.

  Ootu pointed at the rock-like mass. "That's a , specifically its digestive thallus. It's extremely acidic and will melt the clothes off your back as an appetizer before starting on your flesh." He grinned. "Had a research assistant once who sat on a thallus. The poor fellow had to finish the expedition with a rather distinctive trouser ventilation system."

  The young man was already standing and cautiously shaking off his jacket. Ootu examined his strange physique with a scientist's eye. The maybe-Torcher was lanky and angular, like someone used to ranging far for his meals, yet also puffy and fleshed out, as if recently pumped full of additives. An interesting contradiction.

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  "Judging by the way you nonchalantly strolled into the Long-Glow Night," said Ootu, "you're not from around here. Welcome to Kabus." He extended a hand. "I'm Ootu. Field scientist. Do you have a name?"

  The young man shook his hand cautiously. "Sixflame."

  "A number and an element? Fascinating nomenclature! Where are you from, Sixflame?"

  "Enclave II," Sixflame said, eyes wary beneath slender brows.

  "Ah, yes." Ootu nodded enthusiastically. "Interesting mineral deposits, but too deep to be economically viable. No wonder they abandoned the operation." He studied Sixflame with renewed interest. "What brings you out here? Besides a fondness for acid-secreting organisms."

  "I'm collecting water."

  "The Hub has perfectly good water recycling systems. Ninety-eight percent efficiency and no bad taste since they've installed the new filters."

  Sixflame hesitated. "Natural water," he said. "Untouched by machines. I'm…with the Torchers."

  "Ah." Ootu smiled brightly, pleased to have been proven right. "Well, you've been followed by the right person." He put his duffle bag down, rummaged inside and pulled out a small axe. "Is this the sort of equipment you're allowed to use? No electricity, no sensors. It's really just a sharp thing on a strong stick."

  "I think so." Sixflame took the axe, examining it uncertainly.

  Ootu pointed to a stand of thick green stems to his left. "Do you see those?"

  "The plants?"

  . The jointed bamboo of Kabus!" Ootu declared with confidence, although that wasn’t its official name yet because his submission to the Journal of Xenobotany was still pending. "Not really bamboo, of course, but surprisingly similar." He pointed to a joint. "Hit it there."

  "With the axe?" Sixflame asked, already adjusting his grip to get better leverage.

  "Yes, unless you’ve got something sharper on you."

  Sixflame gave the stem a tentative tap, clearly uncertain about the plant.

  "Again! Give it a good whack," Ootu encouraged. "Don't worry, it doesn't hit back. Not like some of the other flora around here."

  A flicker of wariness crossed Sixflame's face, but his second swing was stronger, burying the axe blade deep in the stem.

  "Now yank it out," Ootu said.

  Water gushed through the gap, and Sixflame scrambled to collect it with his bottle.

  "There you go." Ootu grinned. "By the way, do you intend to drink it?"

  "Uh, yes. I think."

  "Have you had your shots?”

  “Shots?”

  “Did they give you the standard vaccine package before they put you to sleep?"

  "Yes." A tiny smile made a brief appearance on the young man’s face.

  Ootu grinned wildly and shouldered his duffle bag again. "Then you'll be fine. Do you like the axe?”

  “It’s not bad.”

  “Then it’s yours. Are you heading back to the Hub?"

  Sixflame nodded.

  "I'll join you, if you don't mind," Ootu said. "I've been assigned to your group's expedition, and it seems the universe has arranged for us to get acquainted early." He gestured toward the path. "Shall we? The jungle gets rather creative during the Long-Glow Night, which is beautiful but disorienting.”

  ?

  Ootu’s prior experience with Torchers had been a brief and uncomfortable debate in tent. Thus, he hadn’t taken the time to study their practices. When he entered Hangar 4D behind Sixflame he was surprised to find neither candles nor crystals but merely a circle of people conversing softly. At their centre stood a man of imposing height and beauty, his face lifted graciously towards the skylight. His eyes were closed, and the planetshine gave his short snow-white hair a violet glow.

  "Is that your leader?" Ootu whispered.

  Sixflame nodded. "Vanguard Starcarver."

  The voices fell silent as the circle of Torchers turned toward them.

  "Vanguard," said one, her voice disapproving. "You see, the unqualified novice returns and he brings company."

  Starcarver's expression remained calm, though Ootu’s enhanced sight detected a slight wrinkling around the eyes, of the kind that suggested the ability to quickly shift to stern confrontation.

  "Hello everyone," Ootu said cheerfully. "I'm Ootu. I'm—"

  "Sixflame," one of the Torchers interrupted. "Why do you bring an outsider?"

  "Oh, I brought myself, I assure you." Ootu kept his smile as wide as possible without revealing his metallic molars.

  "This is a private matter," said the woman who had spoken first.

  "Sister Gemheart," Starcarver finally spoke, his voice implying unfathomable depths of tranquility, "no matter is private when it concerns the Passage. We must make space for those who are drawn to our ways." He stepped forward, arms spread wide. "Welcome, Ootu. I am sure you have many questions. Please, feel free to ask them."

  Sixflame gave the tiniest of sighs.

  "Yes,” said Ootu, “I do indeed have many questions, but I shall not pose them under false pretenses." He set his duffle bag on the floor. "Truth be told, Hub Chief Ayan has asked me to accompany you."

  The silence that followed was absolute.

  "Preposterous!" a Torcher finally cried. "We walk alone. An outsider cannot—"

  "Cannot what, Brother Dawnchaser?" Starcarver interrupted, reaching out to brush the man's shoulder. "Can he not walk where we walk? Can he not see what we see? Are our truths so fragile they cannot withstand outside witness?"

  “But he is old,” said Sister Gemheart. “The elderly must remain behind to rest and contemplate their completed Passages.”

  "If I may interrupt," said Ootu brightly, "I have extensive field experience on Kabus. I won't be a burden, nor will I interfere with your customs. In fact, I'll be far too busy sampling the scenery."

  Sister Gemheart gave him a withering look. "The Passage is sacred. It is not an expedition."

  "And why can it not be both?" said Starcarver. "Why must science and faith always be enemies?" He approached Ootu. "We are overjoyed that you have chosen to join us."

  The remaining Torchers looked significantly less than overjoyed.

  "What of Sixflame?" a Sister asked suddenly. "If this outsider is forced upon us by the authorities of this world, so be it. But Sixflame has lied about his position among the Torchers."

  Starcarver turned to envelop the young man in a ln even more gentle embrace. "Sister Coralweft, know that Sixflame walks with us. He has a true heart, having been well-marked by his home world, despite having no fellow Torchers to guide him." Releasing Sixflame, Starcarver gestured to the hangar at large. "And soon we shall have enough novices to attend to."

  This announcement was met with gasps.

  "Vanguard," cried Sister Coralweft with obvious delight. "Is it true? Have you recruited natives of this world?"

  "Yes,” Starcarver intoned. “When we depart at first light tomorrow, we will have with us four humans born to this moon, ready to discover what their world has to teach."

  Ootu suppressed a smile as excitement rippled through the Torchers. He harbored a secret love for being thrust into mystical journeys, having once accidentally joined a monastic order while hunting for amphibious fungi. He'd emerged with three broken ribs and a new left elbow, but also a fascinating paper on religious adaptation to ecological disaster.

  Overall, these things tended to balance out.

  This was going to be a fun adventure.