Chương 31: An exotic week

"The question was how to measure the power of a creature, given that they don't have the typical attributes and skills that we do. After considerable debate, we decided to leave it to the nanomachines in the creature's system to report back - a solution so obvious in retrospect that we were embarrassed it had taken us so long. - Heela Jakob, Lead Researcher under the Fourth Principal of the Progenitor's Faction" Over the six days of semester break, Kara learned four things about Waggy.

The first was that he would eat anything. Kara had started cautiously - various milks procured from the School of Lifesciences shop, which turned out to be one of the more useful privileges of University life. Free animal nutrition with minimal documentation and a shopkeeper who asked cheerful questions that Kara deflected by claiming the food was for a leopard cub. Leopard cubs weren't common, but they were not unusual enough to produce alarm or the wrong kind of curiosity.

Waggy worked through cow's milk, then goat's, then a few recommended liquids for feline cubs, all of them disappearing with the same enthusiasm of something that had been inside a shell for several months and had no particular opinions about food. His stomach, whatever its precise biological composition, appeared to be made of something more durable than caution. The second was that his growth rate was ordinary.

After the egg, which had grown steadily across months, Kara had half-expected the cub to follow a similarly unusual trajectory. He did not. He grew at the pace pretty much expected of a newborn cub. His dark skin was developing patches of fur in silver and black, arranged in spots - confirmation, as far as Kara was concerned, of the snow leopard component of whatever this creature was. The spots were not quite the same pattern as a snow leopard's, but they were close enough to settle the question.

The third thing was stranger. Running his hand over the spots one evening, Kara felt something strange - a faint movement, like air passing through the surface. He pressed more carefully, palm flat, and felt it again. Air, or something with the quality of air, moving outward through the spots in a pattern that was too consistent to be accidental. He looked at the interface. Elemental Pores (Active). He looked at the description - air passes through spots. He did not know what that meant yet.

He was fairly certain he was looking at part of the answer. The fourth thing was the stubs. He had noticed the two pairs on the night Waggy hatched - one pair above the shoulder blades, one pair running along the shoulder ridge. Over the first week, the shoulder blade pair had grown.

Not dramatically, perhaps two inches vertically, with a slight curve developing in one of them, the tip sharp enough that Kara had discovered this by touching it and had responded with language he was glad Waggy could not yet understand. The other, blunter stub of that pair was also growing in parallel. The shoulder ridge pair had not grown at all. They sat flush with the skin, barely distinguishable from the surrounding tissue, waiting for something. Kara had no framework for any of it.

He documented what he observed, kept his surgical gloves accessible, and accepted that understanding would come later. The eggshell he had kept in a sealed bag at the back of the wardrobe. This was a practical decision, not a sentimental one. He had no idea how to dispose of it safely without it leading somewhere inconvenient, and until he did, the wardrobe was the most controlled option available.

The semester results arrived the day after Waggy hatched, which Kara had almost entirely forgotten about until Glasses mentioned them. He had performed roughly as expected. Top three in Lifesciences and Arts - Arts was slightly surprising, subjective grading being the unpredictable quantity it was, but he would take it. Top ten in Thermodynamics and IT & Space Sciences. Overall, just inside the top ten of the batch, which was where he had been aiming without quite admitting he was aiming anywhere.

Glasses had topped IT and Space Sciences, placed second in Thermodynamics, and landed top five in both subjects he had claimed not to care about, which Kara found quietly amusing and chose not to comment on. He was among the top three overall in the batch. Phinx was top five in her year, strongest in the practical subjects.

Moghli, apparently, had topped his batch for most of his time at the University before dropping to second this year - dungeon preparation, Phinx said, in a tone that found the reason fair and the result a slight waste. Currently, Waggy was on Kara's lap, eyes still sealed, teeth not yet present, sucking on his thumb like something that had found a satisfactory arrangement and saw no reason to change it. Kara let him.

He was warm and small and improbably heavy for his size, and the weight of him was grounding in a way Kara had not anticipated. Across the room, Glasses was browsing his interface, decisions already made, just reviewing them now. They were both choosing their second semester subjects - two from the four they had taken in the first semester, each divided into theory and practical components. Lifesciences was straightforward for Kara.

It was his favourite subject, and the practical component would be directly useful for whatever lay ahead with Waggy. The second choice required more thought. IT and Space Sciences was out. It was interesting, but it was not his. Glasses was taking it, which meant access to the materials was just a conversation away if he ever needed it. That left Thermodynamics and Arts.

Thermodynamics had the more obviously practical application - understanding the energy mechanics behind tiering up, the deeper workings of what they all used without fully comprehending. But the practical component of Arts included combat arts. Weapon theory, weapon use. Things he was going to need. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. He pondered over the choice. He was going to look for Gomot.

Whatever had happened to his brother had involved forces that had sent the Task Force after him, and whatever he was going to do about it was not going to be accomplished through academic preparation alone. He needed to be able to handle himself. More than that, he needed to be able to handle a weapon. Arts it was. He filed the decision and confirmed his selections.

"What did you choose?" he asked Glasses.

"Apart from IT and Space Sciences of course." Glasses looked at him with the wry expression of someone who had been correctly predicted.

"Thermodynamics. Standard combination for our family. My dad took the same pair at University 5." Kara processed this. University 5, senior position at a major tech company - the picture of Glasses' background was becoming more detailed. He thought about the equivalent trust being offered in return for Waggy, and noted it without pressing further.

"Between us we've got all four covered," Kara said.

"Anything you need on Lifesciences or Arts, come to me."

"Deal," Glasses agreed, without needing to think about it. Waggy stirred on Kara's lap, resettled, and resumed his grip on the thumb. The message from Moghli arrived that evening. Private meeting, next day, if available. Kara replied yes before he had finished reading it. He had been trying to find a window for this conversation since the start of term.

Moghli was perpetually between obligations, visible in glimpses and absent in stretches, and every time Kara had considered approaching him there had been something - committee work, demonstrations, Moghli simply not being there when the moment was. The message arriving now, during the break, felt like the first clear opening he had been given. He had been thinking about what he was going to say. The cafeteria, it turned out, had a section he had not known existed.

Past the regular food counters, deeper inside, a walled-off area opened on evenings of days without classes into something that was part club and part restaurant, with private booths along one wall where the music from the main floor arrived as an ambient presence rather than an intrusion. Kara had heard this music on his first night and never located its source. He filed the mystery as solved and sat down. Moghli had arrived first and ordered before Kara had the opportunity to look at anything.

On the table, Kara spied a steak of a meat he hadn't had before along with a jus, a buttery, mashed vegetable which looked a lot like potato, an exotic salad, some sort of a cake fondant, all from planets Kara could not immediately identify. It was a spread that represented a category of expense that Kara couldn't begin to account for. He looked at it. He looked at Moghli. Moghli looked amused.

"First time with food from beyond Mars?" Moghli asked. Kara intended to answer this with dignity. What happened instead was that he took one bite of the meat - fatty, juicy, somehow inducing a sense of both warm and cold in his mouth - and dignity became a theoretical concept.

"Wis ish my phast time having foof fom planets oger gan Eark ang Mash," he said, mouth entirely occupied. He became aware of what he had just done approximately one second later, and attempted to swallow too quickly, which produced a bout of coughing that Moghli watched with open amusement.

"Alright," Moghli said, when Kara had recovered.

"Have your fill. We can talk after." Kara did not argue with this. He ate with quiet, single-minded efficiency, given permission and intent on using all of it, and when he finally surfaced he felt, if not dignified, at least satisfied enough that dignity seemed like a reasonable next step.

"Thank you," he said, and he really meant it.

"I'm not sure I can repay this."

"Pass it on to your junior when the time comes." Moghli leaned back, and Kara saw the tiredness in him more clearly now than at the demonstration. It was deep, the kind that builds up over a long stretch of too many late nights.

"Phinx said you'd been trying to reach me. I've been meaning to talk to you too, but the dungeon preparation has taken everything." He paused, before continuing.

"I hear there are complications this year. Politics around the dive."

"Ah I see. Makes sense," Kara said carefully.

"Because of what happened last year." Moghli's expression shifted, closing off slightly.

"You know how it is. You'll be caught up in it yourself eventually." He said it with mild resignation, a man who had been caught up in it himself and had not made his peace with that. But he did not elaborate, and when Kara pressed, he deflected smoothly, clearly practised at it. Kara could not read which side he was on. He could not read whether there were sides in the way he was thinking of them, or something more complicated. This was probably the closest he would get to some real information.

He made his decision.

"I know Ghilim Habuza," he said. Quietly, under the music. He watched Moghli's face as he said it, tracking each stage - the initial register, the assessment of whether to take it seriously, the conclusion that it was serious, the slow upward movement of the eyebrows that continued past what Kara had expected.

"How?" Moghli asked. For the first time, Kara could classify Moghli's voice as something other than level. Kara had thought about this too. He had thought about whether to say it, and when, and how much. He had thought about what he had seen of Moghli - the deliberate restraint at the demonstration, the way he never forced anything, the room he gave to things that caught his curiosity.

He had thought about the fact that he needed an ally in this building with access to information he did not have, and that allies required trust, and that trust required risk.

"He's my brother," Kara admitted. Almost too quietly to hear over the music. But Moghli heard it. The silence stretched. Kara kept his eyes on Moghli's face and waited.

"You're serious," Moghli assessed. It was not a question. He held the eye contact and let it speak for him. Moghli was quiet for a long moment, and Kara had the distinct sense of something being processed at a level below the visible surface. Then, with a tired sigh, he said "I don't know whether to feel privileged that you told me, or to tell you how foolish it was to admit that." He was already getting to his feet.

"That can wait. Follow me." He was out of the booth before Kara had fully pushed back his chair, moving with the energy of someone who had received a sensitive piece of information in a public place. Kara followed. Wherever this was going, he was going to see it through.