Koldan, Sin and the Doomed Ship

(This is a continuation of a previous post: From Heaven... to Hell)

  Krof produced a diagnostor, a small device meant to assess a human's medical condition, and placed it on the largest expanse of exposed skin he could find...her belly, just above the navel. He had no idea how it would read her physiology, but it was the logical thing to do. He shook his head as it sought data.

  "You are wounded. This is not time to go to reactor. Also, your command of other demons. This did not work out, yes?"

  The jagged rip in Wrath's hip from the Archeri's jagged mouth parts now stitched closed, he wiped her hip clean, dressed it, and pulled her clothing back into place. Despite first aid being done, he retained his grip on her, holding her against his chest as the small device analyzed her. His head whips back and forth, keeping an eye on his surroundings.

  Wrath grimaced when Zhukov put the device on her body, but didn't say anything. She attentively looked at the Skoll's expression when he announced the wound, not surprised but slightly anxious it could get worse easily. The Archeri did only bite once, but it was a good bite.

  "I really want..."

  The sentence never ended. She quickly evaluated her condition, and it wasn't at its best, obviously. Maybe she could take a short break to recover and visit another place of this ship with Zhukov for now. Even if she really did want to go near that reactor. Her only goal for now.

  "I don't understand what happened. I do leave some independence to my subordinates, but nothing that would allow them to attack me directly. The only thought of what could happen if they did would terrorize most of them."

  She made a pause, biting her lower lip with her pointed teeth.

  "It seemed I had no control whatsoever over this Archeri."

  She gave it a look and stared at it.

  "Have they become wild? I don't know."

  She turned her gray eyes to the Skoll.

  "Where do you want to go?"

  Krof grunted in satisfaction as she listened to him, for once. He did not have to worry much about disease on board the ship, but the filthy conditions made it another story for humans...and she was still human, as far as he could see. He slipped his arms against the small of her back and under her knees, and lifted her up, hunched low to clear the ceiling as he carried her back down the tunnel. She would have to cling to his harness as he climbed back up the ladder. Suddenly face-to-face with her, he smiled, exposing a few fangs in the process.

  "Back to New Arkhangelsk," he answered, with what apparently passed for humor with him. "But for now, will accept crew deck. Food, and rest."

   The demoness exclaimed a short and surprised cry as Zhukov lifted her; she had the feeling she didn't weigh anything in the Skoll's arms. As he walked to the ladder, looking straight ahead, she smiled. She didn't have to be carried, but it would give the Skoll confidence, which she needed. A nice, fellow follower that would help her leave this place... She was still smiling when Zhukov talked to her, but she did not get what he was trying to say. Ar-kan-gelsk? She ignored the word, but her smile was larger.

  "I surely need a little break."

  She sighed.

  "But don't get too excited, we'll eventually have to go there."

  She moved her arms along Zhukov's armor and grabbed the harness to hold herself to it. It didn't seem to cost much in terms of energy.

The refectory

  Krof emerged into the crew refectory and gently lowered the demoness from his arms and into one of the bar's intact stools. Probably much more gently than she required, but as she'd observed to herself, it made him feel better. He propped his weapon up against the bar and detached a satchel from his webbing, settling it on the counter and digging through it. He spread his meager assortment of rations across the surface - most of it appeared to be the foil-wrapped blocks he'd shared with her before. Some dried and stunted-looking vegetables rounded out the assortment. As he handed her one of the ration blocks, he scratched the shaggy mane between his ears, maw opening as he considered how to word the question that came next. Finally, he asked.

  "Did I fire at you?"

  He didn't look at her as he spoke the question, but once done, his eyes flicked over to her, waiting for the answer. Wrath delicately landed on the stool and made herself as comfortable as she could, still grimacing a little.

  "Thank you."

  The sweet attention made her grin again, and she unconsciously held Zhukov's hand to stabilize herself, then she let it go. She was looking around her when the Skoll asked the question. She frowned and looked at the tiles decorating the bar, visually jumping from a light to a dark color and back. The silence was awkward, and you could tell the answer did not come naturally.

  "Not really. Do you remember when I kicked your weapon away so you could not fire it your way?"

  Bluff.

  "Well, your finger slipped on the trigger and the weapon fired."

  She was unsure if she should add more. But she did.

  "Thankfully it didn't hurt me."

  She was feeling slightly bad about what had happened. Why did she want to murder him so much? Was it a tantrum? She tried to deviate the attention on the lost cartridge.

  "Didn't you say you could make more rounds?"

  She passed her hand in her hair, moving some of its white tips over the shoulder.

  "I still don't feel any demon around..."

  Krof grunted noncommittally at her explanation, not seeming entirely convinced. He glanced down at his own trigger finger, as if gauging the probability that he could let it slip. He unwrapped the foil on a ration block of his own and bit down on it, swallowing half of it nearly whole down his cavernous throat.

  "Yes," he answered, between halves. "Not same quality. No variable fuses. But solid slugs that will fire."

  He set a canteen down on the counter, and followed it with a battered metal flask, stamped with the spanner-and-sickle emblem of the NovoSoviet Union. He unscrewed the cap on the flask as he thought.

  "Will need machine shop on Maintenance level and raw materials. To dismantle normal bullets to make round for Akula is...pain in ass."

  He tossed his head back and took a swallow from the flask, sloshing the contents around in his mouth like a newly awakened sleeper gargling with mouthwash.

Feast

  Wrath had her lips touching the foil wrapping her ration when she realized she had missed a step in the preparation process. She tried to remove it delicately but could not find the opening in the sticky wrap. She put it back on the bar, and literally cut through the foil with her nails. She then took one of the two parts, and smashed it in her mouth without class, using the foil to push the ration in it.

  "Filling."

  She raised her head as she heard the sound of the liquid going down the Skoll's throat, realized he was simply drinking, so went back to eating the second half of the ration. This time though, she ate it in two times. But it was still a mess, as if it was the way Duchesses were consuming food in Hell.

  "Where can we find the raw materials? What do you need?", she asked while still chewing on her food.

  Her eyes were curious, looking at all the details of Zhukov's armor, trying to guess what each pocket could contain. Her anger seemed to have disappeared now that she had accepted to rest a bit.

  Krof produced the monomolecular knife he'd brandished at the Acheri earlier and put it to the much more utilitarian task of slicing one of the earth fruits he'd taken out of his ration pack, julienning it with precise knifework atop some now empty foil and sliding it over to her.

  "These are important for you. Without them your gums bleed and teeth fall out."

  He reflexively bares his teeth in subconscious sympathy with the words as he speaks them.

  "On Persephone, small things become big. Things like eating, and not freezing."

  It was warmer here than the rest of the ship, as if some central heating had been brought back to life. But the pair's breath still fogged as they spoke.
  Wrath looked at the fruits with envy, resisting at the tentation to grab them all at once and supercharge her mouth with them. Instead, she displayed the two rows of her teeth with a smile.

  "I'm wondering how much practice you had."

 She smiled even more at the Skoll raising an eyebrow. She took a slice, raised it in front of her eye and aligned it with one of Zhukov's hands.

  "Well if I compare the sizes, I'm actually surprised that you don't crush them when holding them." She swallowed it, still talking. "Well they are eatable."

  It was harsh when considering the situation in which the Skoll had been for a long time, but it was nonetheless true. Fruits seemed to have been impacted by the confined air of the ship.

 "Don't you take any? Is that something you can't eat?"

  Krof shook his head at her, screwing the cap back onto his flask and offering it.

  "Carnivore. Plants not digested, is waste of food. Used to carry these for trade. When there were others."

  As the demoness visually browsed his harness and webbing, with its pouches labeled in Cyrillic, she could see a variety of gear and supplies...rations, medical equipment, spare parts. A sheath for his Skoll-sized knife. A band for attaching grenades, now empty, encircling one thigh. His armor seemed to be designed to hook into some sort of station or troop compartment, equipped with a surplus of eyehooks and rings. The battered surfaces were painted with ranks, numbers, and unit insignia...the most noticeable of which was a stylized three-headed dog on the right shoulder.

  "Is vodka," he said, nodding at the flask. "I fill from stash in armory."

  Wrath finished eating her slice, keeping one near her for the after-flask-tasting. She took the flask in her hand, removed the cap and smelled it.

  "Fiery!"

  She excitedly brought the flask to her lips, drinking it quicker than a fish, top to bottom.

  "Aaaaah..."

  As she opened the mouth, a large foggy cloud of evaporating liquid escaped between the two rows of teeth.

  "Thanks for sharing."

  She didn't look affected by the alcohol, as if it had completely evaporated in the Demoness's mouth. Her eyes glowed slightly. She pointed her finger to the three-headed dog, still holding the flask in the same hand. With the other, she took the last slice of fruit and threw it between her teeth.

  "What is that?" And then, as if she had forgotten a formality. "Oh, and thanks for the fruits."

  She didn't seem to catch how rare these were. Maybe she was assuming there were plenty on board. Krof grinned as she placed the flask to her lips, raising a triumphant fist as she drank it down.

  "Znashu druzhbu," he offered, and glanced over at his right pauldron as she pointed, almost as if he'd forgotten the emblem was there. "Tserber," he explained, his mouth finding the word as if it was half-forgotten. "Old monster from human stories. Guards Hell with his three heads."

 He shrugged, and digged out another of the bars. The one had hardly seemed enough for a creature of his mass.

  "Humans, they like to think of us as dogs. Genome is only eleven percent canine, but the looks."

  He taps the side of his skull, as if his resemblance to a dog needed any emphasis.

  "Is znak...symbol...of Fifth Drop Army."