Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
Diversify your diet
Was it practical to start my ship-to-house renovations with the deck that faced the ocean?
No. It wasn’t. But I was more excited to sit on it than I was to reconfigure the landing pads or remove the upward thrusters.
The plasma welder was quiet, even though it let out the smell of melted tack alloy, and occasionally needed a solid whack on its compressor compartment to start up.
After two weeks, I was pleased with my progress.
I’d crafted a functional, if not particularly aesthetic, back door onto the deck, and I was debating whether or not I wanted railings or just a completely unobstructed view.
A tumble off the side of the deck would result in a few bruises, but a tumble off the front—well, that would take you down the sloping cliff face onto the jumble of boulders that sat between the cliffs and the beach.
I’d never thought about things like safety rails before, but out here on my own, perhaps I needed to.
I wiped the sweat off my brow and pushed that thought aside for now.
Just the idea of tumbling off my own deck made me cross.
I wasn’t old, after all. Past my prime? Yes.
But all this time on my hands made me think about things I hadn’t bothered pondering before.
There had been no time for reflection when I had a warship to maintain, a schedule to keep, objectives to meet, and pretty much a constant stream of wounds to heal from.
But now…all I had was free time. My thoughts sometimes wandered back to my home world of Belaga. To my family, long lost. The horrors I had kept myself too busy to think about.
I pushed those thoughts away, too. My stomach grumbled.
I was hungry, but the thought of eating yet more fish made me grit my teeth.
By the stars, I had prepared fish every way I could think of, having caught and cataloged every fish swimming in these parts, except for the ones that were apex predators themselves.
Those I stayed well away from. I had dived as far out into the ocean as I dared.
In addition to fish, I’d collected mollusks and crustaceans.
Some of them were not edible, which I had learned the hard way.
None of them had killed me, but one horrible little snail—which I will always regret eating—ensured that I could keep nothing in my stomach for two straight days.
Anyway, my research showed that the Runams didn’t have farms, but they grew things.
The forest by them was more abundant, probably from their own cultivation efforts.
What they lacked in pasture land and fertile, rich soil, they made up for in utilizing life that grew in the ocean and enhancing the forest’s offerings.
I wiped my hand over my brow and glanced at the scrubby forest behind my home.
It grew nothing but sad-looking trees with silver needles that flattened against their branches in the full sun, making them look skeletal.
The needles were bitter and burned my tongue.
I didn’t even want to try the sap. But that was pretty much all I had growing.
Maybe I could trade with the Runams. Perhaps I could share some of what I caught in the ocean in exchange for some variety in my diet.
Being able to breathe underwater gave me access to ocean life they probably didn’t have.
And as an added bonus, trading with them might make Maive less suspicious of me.
She had not returned in the weeks following her visit, but she had sent others to keep an eye on me.
B2’s vigilant eyes had alerted me to the scouts that appeared at the edge of the scraggly forest behind my home.
They never came close, but appeared to use some sort of distance-viewing device to keep tabs on me.
I ignored them, but it was annoying. Perhaps building a bit of trust would put an end to the surveillance.
My stomach rumbled again. I put down my plasma welder and decided it was time to take a trip to the village.
It was midday when I began to see, hear, and smell the activity of the village.
I had walked, mostly to let them know in advance I was coming and because arriving in a shuttlecraft was not only ridiculous for a twenty-minute walk, but also could be seen as threatening.
These were people who carried spears, after all.
I had washed up, pulled back my hair, and put on my most respectable set of clothing, or rather, the only clothing I had that did not involve armor.
I stuck my favorite knife in the back of my pants, out of view.
Over my shoulder, I had a satchel filled with dried fish and a selection of the underwater creatures I had caught.
It was smellier than I would have liked, but I had to show what I could offer if I hoped for anything in exchange.
The sound of voices after weeks of silence was almost jarring.
I could hear them on the air—lilting conversations, some laughter—and with it came a sharp pang of knowing that I did not belong here.
I was an outsider. I was feared, and I would not be welcomed.
Not that I was welcomed anywhere. Since joining the mercenary guild, my presence had been greeted with worry and suspicion at best, outright terror at worst. And I’d earned it.
I lifted my head, my nose twitching at the scent of cooking food.
By the stars, I could smell bread. My mouth filled with saliva.
Any incarnation of bread I’d tried to conjure from the food processor on the Andromeda was tasteless with an awful texture.
It was meant for survival rations, to fill my oversized body with the required nutrients so I could function.
It was not designed for taste, and taste was what I was craving.
This new life I had chosen came with surprising desires.
There was no path from my home to this village, but there was a flat enough span along the edge of the forest, which, I observed, turned thicker, more lush, and more diverse the farther north I walked.
Here I could begin to see little winding pathways through the forest, and areas that were being cultivated.
There was a stand of trees with bases covered in brilliant red mushrooms. Another area had vines crisscrossing through the branches of a ring of thick trees with huge, pale blue, heart-shaped leaves.
They rustled in the light breeze, letting off a sound almost like chimes.
From the vines hung thick clusters of berries.
The Runams were growing all this, and I was sure I was only noticing a small fraction of what they had cultivated.
My nerves began to prick the closer I got to the village proper. The voices were growing louder and more distinct. I could actually hear snippets of conversations. If I was smart, I would turn around now, return to my home, and leave these people in peace like I’d said I was going to.
But something pulled me forward.
Unfortunately, the first individual I encountered was a youngling.
And not a young-adult youngling, but a little, tiny female youngling no taller than my knees.
She’d stumbled out from behind a cluster of bushes, directly into my path.
Huge green eyes looked up at me. Her little mouth dropped open into an O of surprise.
She was impossibly small. And she did not look so much afraid as overwhelmed. I took that as a good sign.
“Hello,” I said mildly.
“Who are you?” she asked in a little voice that sounded like bells.
I adjusted the satchel on my shoulder, wishing I had brought Silli with me. He was a cute little animal who could charm this small girl.
“I am Gilrox,” I replied. “Who are you?”
“I’m Aila,” she said, standing up straight. She locked her hands behind her back, still eyeing me. Evaluation was clear on her little round face. “What are you doing in our woods?”
Oh. That was a direct question. At least I could answer it. I pointed to my satchel. “I’m looking to trade some goods in your village,” I replied. “Do you know who I should talk to about that?”
She tilted her head to one side and pressed her lips together. “My gra’ma. She knows everybody, and she’s very nice.”
“Really? And who is your gra’ma?” So far, this conversation wasn’t going too badly. The child wasn’t screaming, and I didn’t have a village full of Runams with spears pointed at me. Yet.
“My gra’ma is our leader. Our saka. Her name is Maive.”
I nearly groaned out loud. I could see the resemblance now. This little one had more green than gold in her eyes, but the features were similar enough that I should have seen it.
“Your grandmother is Maive, the leader of your village?”
Little Aila looked very pleased with herself as she tilted her head up and nodded. “Yep. Come on, Gilrox. I’ll bring you to her.”
With that, she turned around and trotted off toward the village with all the imperial confidence of a future leader, as she clearly expected me to simply follow her.
I let out an enormous sigh, resigned myself to having to deal with this female who loathed me, and followed. How far I’d come. Gilrox, a decorated fighter of the mercenary guild, reduced to following a child into what would likely be one of the most hostile places I had ever ventured.