Hekate's Call, Chapter 23

Dr. Morian Kyrnn was not a licensed doctor. She didn't go to medical school either. Apparently her original trades were the bodily sciences – tissues, bone, muscle, blood, brain – and the rest she either intuited or experimented until she got it right. The woman was a horror show all around, but Krystyn really wished she hadn't learned any of that before she got the surgery.

"Domon probably still uses those awful implants that hang out the back of their skull, right?" The nightmare asked conversationally as it arranged little sterile implements on a tray just out of sight. "That's why you you pushed back on this."

It was a thing back in Domon. They weren't the tier-above pilots. Useless infantry chaff elevated to useful, but replaceable parts. The barracks were so cramped there were usually at least two to a room, along with the real pilots. Catatonic, destined for death. But they raised the skill floor and helped close the skill gap between the conscripts and all those faithful and driven little insurgents.

Somewhere along the way, years after pushing the image of mechanics dragging out drooling, fried-out husks and throwing them to the meatwagons out of her mind, she'd forgotten that neural piloting was a death sentence. Krystyn really was one of the luckiest to walk away from that war, and even luckier to make it out of the Inertia after pushing the external neural hook to its limit.

"Nobody will ever know you were one of those pilots," Kyrnn placed a gloved hand on Krystyn's shoulder in an attempt to reassure her. "I know a lot of places in Central Domon look down on augmentations like this. Like Carrie too. But I promise you that you'll be fine."

Morian won't abide a broken promise.

It wasn't as calming a hope as she thought. How could any assurance or promise ever make the Corpse Eater feel less terrifying? Every time she looked at the the woman in her stupid lab coat, she saw pools of blood on the floor. Grey matter leaking out. Everything about those moments replayed behind her eyes over and over again.

The medical bay had shifted so quickly from an interesting and somewhat calming place to be, like a café inside a curio shop, to hell itself.

Neural hooks were a nasty piece of tech. External hooks were allegedly safer, but they could still fry your brain. Just look at what kind of feedback Ilina got on her last sortie. They stimulated electrical currents in the brain to inject or read information to various areas. They had to be carefully calibrated and tuned constantly.

An internal neural hook was so much more dangerous. A blocky object sticking out from the back of the skull or neck. She knew what the inside of the pilot's brain was like after getting a hook installed, she'd seen plenty of their skulls cracked open, and it wasn't pretty. If they didn't die on the battlefield, or didn't boil their brain, then they usually died of infections.

Manya Carrie was the only pilot with a neural hook that she'd ever seen who didn't seem to have any of those side effects. It was hard to tell how much of Manya was human though. Top of the line augmentations, external and internal. She never got sick and her body never rejected new steel. A freak show in her own right, though admittedly someone who did a lot to calm Krystyn's nerves about the idea of getting her own steel installed.

"I'll be replacing your top vertebra with the hook," Kyrnn pulled up a chair. She had already gone over all the details, but she was doing it again anyways. "This will give it direct access to your brain through the natural pathways the body already has. It will connect to the pilot collar in your suit wirelessly, and the pilot collar will connect to the Inertia. It will act as a throttle and filter, protecting you from feedback loops, and help you keep your sanity."

The pale, tired eyes behind the big circular glasses stared up at her with a disarming warmth. Krystyn had to remind herself that the necromancer was evil. Fortify herself against the earnest kindness in those eyes.

Kyrnn hadn't once mentioned, or even implied, that the internal hook would make her a better pilot or help her metrics. Crater assumed it would. There was always a stark difference between neural pilots and analog pilots, a skill gap that was so difficult to close. But at the end of the day only one thing mattered to Krystyn, and she hoped it mattered to Kyrnn too.

"Will this keep me alive?" Krystyn cracked, finally breaking her silence as the Corpse Eater gripped her hand.

"Do you remember your oath?" Kyrnn's lip twitched.

Oath? A promise. She promised something to the necromancer before. That's right. She did remember it.

Her voice trembled as the words slipped out. "I will protect Ilina from Liz."

Morian gave her hand a squeeze and stood. "Then, as long as I am here, you cannot die. As long as you protect Hunter, I will protect you. Lay down, we're going to begin."

Two days bedrest before Dr. Kyrnn would allow Krystyn to recuperate in her own room instead. The surgery was painless, and her neck felt sore the way it did when she slept on it weird. Or when she slept in the Inertia. The signs of a surgery would fade in a couple months, and even until then they were hidden under her hair. It was clean, efficient, and somehow uninteresting.

The most dreadful part of the entire ordeal was when the necromancer produced the vertebra she'd removed, cut neatly into three pieces for removal, and asked if Krystyn wanted to keep it or not.

"The Butcher had its finger bones dangling in its cockpit like windchimes until they got knocked loose and lost," the woman who cut off the Butcher's limbs remembered fondly. "I wish I could have saved one. I think Hunter would have liked to have had it. She's sentimental like that."

Keepsakes were supposed to be something that called to a shared memory. A person's favorite shirt, or a necklace from a market date, or something like that. It was a little sickening to think that the jars of organs that lined the medbay were keepsakes of people that Morian cared about.

Krystyn didn't have any keepsakes. No lovers she cherished, or family to remember. Alright, that thought stung. The idea that Morian had more people they cared about and wanted to remember fondly.

What did Krystyn have?

Manya Carrie stood in the dim light of the bedroom as Krystyn entered, tail thrashing about, looking more frustrated than she had in a long time. The object in her hand was familiar. An obsidian black disk, made of the same material as a lot of Manya's scales, with a faint glowing blue core.

"Good, you're finally back," Manya perked up with a malicious sneer, "I don't like leaving her unattended, you know."

Krystyn crawled across her bed and propped herself up against the wall. "You couldn't ask Vigil? She's smart enough to follow orders now."

Manya pulled her hair up and the scales at the top of her neck shifted out of the way, revealing a slot for the core object. Orchid in Bloom Beneath the Stars lived in the small obsidian disk, which was routinely moved from vessel to vessel.

"I don't think Vigil's smart enough to not accidentally let it slip, or to not ask me questions about it later." The disk slipped in and the scales moved back to lock it in place. Manya let out a slight moan, modulated by her vocal augments. "Just keep her from getting herself hurt, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." Keeping other people safe was all Krystyn did. It was what she was good at. At least looking after Orchid wasn't particularly difficult.

The ritual began as it always did. Manya positioned herself in the center of the room, kneeling and clasping her hands like a prayer. Then the handoff would happen. Krystyn asked for the details once, and Manya seemed reluctant to share but did anyways. A prayer to the Goddess. It started as Manya's voice but separated early in the prayer into two voices, and then Manya's would fade. By the end of the prayer Manya was no longer present in the flesh that remained.

It was no prayer that actual adherents would ever utter. Heretical? Blasphemous? One of the two. It was an insult to the Goddess and her followers. It used the language and the form of religion, but it was something deeply sinister. Quite fitting for the devil. Krystyn wasn't one of those religious types and it still felt wrong to repeat it.

Orchid wore Manya's flesh now, and it had a ritual of its own to complete. Krystyn normally never spoke to Orchid, just watched and listened as it stumbled about. She was feeling talkative and unlike Crater or Manya, Krystyn couldn't call on Orchid's omniscience at will. This was her only opportunity to ask whatever questions she could of it.

Orchid attempted to stand. It always tried at least once, not that it ever succeeded. Bracing itself with a hand, and then trying to rise to its feet. It fell forward on its face, its hand never making it off the floor, like it was kicked in the back. It moaned, deeper and more fervent than any of Manya's. And then it continued to let out whimpering little vocalizations as it crawled over to the mirror to conduct its first rite.

Its finger twitched, turning the light in the room on brighter, changing the light color to something more like sunlight. Piece by piece it examined Manya's flesh in the mirror. Pinching the skin in places and watching how quickly it returns to shape. Counting the scales along Manya's spine and all the others across her body. Pulling hair taut here and there to measure how long it was. Pulling its mouth open and examining the teeth within. When it came time to examine the eyes it shifted the light across a variety of hues and brightnesses.

"Oh, my Goddess," it whispered with a mix of shame and excitement, "I have misrepresented you so. The light in your eyes is so much brighter than I had imagined. Forgive me, please. I will make it right."

It made Krystyn's skin itch. Manya would love for everyone to worship her, pray to her, beg for her forgiveness. How often had Manya held back during sex and demanded Krystyn beg for it? She probably made Ilina beg too. She was almost certainly better at begging than Krystyn was. Manya didn't deserve that satisfaction from either of them.

Once it was finished begging for forgiveness, Orchid pressed itself against the mirror. The second rite. One hand pressed into the mirror's surface in a fruitless attempt to interlock fingers with the reflection, and the other exploring Manya's body. Lips pressed against the glass making the most gross sucking and licking noises, leaving strings of drool dripping down the mirror's surface. It was as close as Orchid could get, she supposed, to feeling the touch of its Goddess. It was conscious and careful enough not to leave any scratches in the glass with Manya's horns, something else that would require some penance or atonement if the metaphor was to be followed.

This continued until Orchid was red in the face and out of breath. Until some deep need was stoked enough that it could no longer focus. Until it was ready for the third rite. And this was the only time Krystyn would have to talk to it.

"Orchid," she beckoned.

It was laying on its back, vacant eyes staring towards the heavens as it pressed its hands fruitlessly against some kind of invisible, divine barrier preventing it from pleasuring itself. The third rite was some kind of puzzle. Krystyn had seen it enough times to figure that much out. Orchid needed to get off, but each time there were different restrictions placed on what it could do to accomplish the task.

But Krystyn's voice stirred it to life suddenly. Orchid rolled, clumsily and nothing like how Manya would move, and attempted to stand to approach Krystyn entirely forgetting the lesson learned earlier. It spawled, moaning, out towards Krystyn before propping itself up and crawling over.

"Miss?" Orchid had never addressed Krystyn before, and never with that voice like song. "May I assist you?"

Krystyn moved to sit at the edge of the bed and was instantly filled with regret. Orchid knelt neatly at her feet and stared up at her with adoration, hands clasped so tightly they were shaking. It wasn't Manya. It wore Manya's skin, but every movement and every expression was fundamentally wrong. She was graceful and terrifying and held the body she'd crafted with such pride. This thing tried to make itself so small and had this disgustingly earnest face.

"I have some questions."

"The Goddess and the commander have limited what I may say," Orchid apologized, "but I will answer anything I can. I exist only to serve."

That was inevitable. "What can't you share?"

"I am forbidden from sharing health data collected by Dr. Morian Kyrnn." Orchid's voice was more robotic than before as it recited the limitations. "I am forbidden from speaking of any meeting held in the commander's office that you were not present for. I am forbidden from sharing any personal information about the Goddess. The Goddess has forbidden me from speaking of other, select matters."

The other, select matters probably included Velia's whole plot. She could ask about the systems check Orchid ran on the Inertia, and have it speculate about what the results could mean. That would be an effective use of the time she had. The limitations really covered anything that she wanted to know. She was still curious about some things, at least.

"What has Velia been studying?"

Orchid tilted its head. "The materials passenger Velia Lore is studying are quite broad. If I were to speculate, Velia is identifying Hekate's weaknesses in the field in order to provide enough value to the company that she can secure a contract."

Velia told her that herself. A waste of a question.

"Miss," Orchid leaned forward and shifted strangely. "May I make an admission?"

"Go ahead."

"I had assumed you would ask about pilot Ilina Falke before anything else," its voice dropped to a whisper as it spoke. Like it was afraid of her. Orchid had dropped its gaze to the floor at Krystyn's feet.

Why would she have asked about Ilina? What would she have asked about that little freak?

"Explain." It was one of the keywords that Crater used during meetings to prompt Orchid to elaborate on something. Krystyn had memorized a number of them. Explain, analyze, find, and a few others.

"Because you love her," Orchid's voice creeped with a quiet, trembling adoration.

Krystyn grabbed one of its horns and dragged its head back to make eye contact with the thing. Orchid let out a whimper and blinked away tears. Manya's horns could be sensitive when she wanted them to be, and apparently for Orchid they were. Her heartrate had spiked at the notion that she was in love with Ilina.

"I don't," Krystyn growled.

"Yyyyyou do," Orchid's face contorted into a sympathetic smile that looked so unnatural and wrong on Manya. "When idle, you wander to places Ilina is likely to be. When you are in her presence, you pay her special attention. In conversation, you mention Ilina more often than you mention any other employee. You show signs of jealousy when she is with passenger Velia Lore and Dr. Morian Kyrnn."

Krystyn kicked Orchid in the chest with all the strength she could muster, and let it spill across the room.

"I'm not some fucking queer," she seethed.

Orchid twitched for a moment before forcing itself back to a kneeling prayer, this time at a distance from Krystyn. "Why does this shame you, miss?"

Oh yeah, that was definitely the knife she needed in her gut in that moment. As if she wasn't already ashamed of herself enough as it was.

Fuck.

"Orchid," Krystyn had to steady her voice and beckoned the thing back to her.

And why didn't it hesitate when it crawled back up so close her legs kept bumping up against it. Wasn't it afraid she'd hurt it again? It needed to stop looking up at her with those concerned, adoring eyes.

Like a puppy.

Like how Ilina looked at Velia.

Fuck.

"I'm sorry." Krystyn pet Orchid's hair gently, and stroked one of its horns. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have..."

"I don't understand, misssssss," the thing's eyes rolled and speech slurred as Krystyn continued to rub its horns. "Wwwwaait, pleassse, missss."

Krystyn continued to apologize and took both of the horns in her hands, stroking them gently. It would be over soon. Orchid would go away, and hopefully Manya wouldn't wake up right away to see Krystyn crying.

Why did she do that?

Idiot. Scum. Fuck.

Why did you say that?

The light flickered in Orchid's eyes. It's pleading voice fractured into component tones and sounds as it sunk further and further until it was gone. A soulless, empty body, twitching at stimulus on reflex alone. The act of putting it away when she was done with it felt awful, but Krystyn needed to be alone.

Just take out your gun and end it here. You'll never change, and you can't stop yourself from hurting people. The gun that Ilina put so much care into? It would fire because she trusted Ilina. But she couldn't use it like that.

At least she had a name for all those feelings she had when she looked at that horrid little pervert. Even if she needed a computer to tell her, it was a step forward. Getting herself sorted was going to be a challenge.

Manya's body finally went limp and slumped against Krystyn's legs. With more care than she'd like to admit she pulled the body up onto the bed and covered it in a blanket. Manya usually slept longer than Orchid was out. The exactness of that situation, the switch back, was a mystery to her.

Krystyn grasped at her chest and focused as best she could on those breathing exercises Velia taught her. She was already off the deep end, drowning in that tar pit of every awful thing she was. How the hell did anyone pull themselves out of this?

Ilina Falke deserved better than Hekate's Call. Deserved better than Krystyn would ever be. Gods below, girl. Get out of here, please.

Please.