Dead Star Dockyards

73.

The grand total of dead and missing persons in the wake of the storm was 73. They'd found 37 bodies thus far, floating in various small lakes and ponds that formed in the aftermath or partially submerged in deep swathes of mud. An additional five included in the count of the dead were less gruesome but equally mortifying, a few elders who succumbed to hypothermia while braving the outdoors. The remaining 31 were unaccounted for, reported missing by family and friends but without a body to show for it. 

While it was probable for a few of these cases to be resolved over the next few days - the current tally had already been revised downward a few times thus far - it would be increasingly less likely as time went on. The reason for this was, in Arc's assessment of the maps at least, because the remainder would have been dragged out into the river. 

This on its own was not necessarily a death sentence, any Nekh sufficiently proficient at swimming would stand a better chance of making it to safety in the overall less turbulent river than in any of the vicious ephemeral streams or mud flows that brought them to that point. One could reasonably expect to swim ashore unimpeded should they keep their wits about them and their head above water, possibly finding solace in floating debris like large branches or trees. In that respect dealing with the river was much like a riptide, dangerous but manageable - if you could swim.

Everyone else would be subjected to the fate of drowning, struggling to find air against an opaque brown menace.

It was tragic, Donovan himself feeling quite dour about the ordeal, but at this point in time there was nothing more they could have done to prepare. If anything there was reason to be relieved that the number was only 73, one bad mudslide in a residential region could easily have rocketed that tally to the hundreds or even thousands. All that could be done at this point was take note of the problem regions and plan accordingly. Gravel for armoring the roadway and concrete pipes for culverts would do wonders for preserving their limited transportation infrastructure (two vehicles were unaccounted for), and the experience of this event would inspire more thorough preparations.

If anything, the most fortunate revelation of this storm was that it wasn't a frequent occurrence. The degree of damage observed beyond the fence from satellite imaging was immense. Various landslides from saturated soil had emptied a few of the affected region's hillsides of trees, and not much evidence of similar events in the recent past had been identified nearby. Even accounting for the less than perfect camera quality of their current satellites and the astonishing rate of growth new trees were expected to exhibit on this planet, Arc estimated a rain event of this magnitude probably only happened once every 25 to 50 years, possibly once per century if this storm was particularly bad compared to the average. This was no guarantee they would be safe next year, but there was solace to be taken in the statistical unlikelihood of consecutive disastrous weather events. 

"Decay in the brain, huh?" In other news, Arc had completed his autopsy of the corpse. "Have you informed Seppard?"

"I have. He seems to think such occurrences are rare enough to make precautions against it counterproductive."

"I suppose the bishops are strained enough as is." He'd yet to reach a level of proficiency in Split high enough to comprehend how difficult searching for and remedying instances of Split Decay was, however the relative paucity of bishops with the skill set was a good indicator. Masses of them were being trained after they realized the capabilities of the Trawler platform far outstripped their assumptions, but for now they were working overtime on both ends to ensure people were healthy. Decay in the brain was either too difficult to detect safely, or had too low a survival rate to be worth looking for. "I'll leave it to him to make that call."

"Understood."

Donovan tabbed through the dissection report for a little while, gathering some information on the differences in anatomy. A lot of it appeared to be the same on a general level, organs arranged in specific orders and the composition of muscles and other tissues being indistinguishable from the norm, however there was a great deal of divergence in places not readily apparent at a glance. For example, the skeletal and muscular structure around the hips and pelvic region differed a bit, seeming to offer a greater range of motion with musculature to facilitate the use of it as well as having 'hard points' for muscles and tendons controlling the base of the tail. This would explain to Donovan why Titanyana had a much more 'flexible' style of combat compared to others, enabling her to contort her torso to extreme angles to avoid a strike whilst generating enough power to maneuver. 

Her own trained flexibility was not to be doubted, nor was the influence Split had in these endeavors, however the corpse exhibited a range of motion Donovan was uncertain he could match in spite of rigor mortis.

There seemed to be a penalty with this specific benefit though, one Donovan suspected but could not confirm. The Nekh would be spending much more energy ensuring their stability whilst upright. A socket and tendons that offered a greater range of motion also did not help to restrict motion passively, meaning the muscles of the Nekh would need to play a bigger part in keeping themselves upright, and they needed to devote more energy to keeping themselves stable during standard motions like jogging. In that respect it would have been a good explanation for Titanyana's less than stellar performance whilst jogging or performing various lifts, but that gap in endurance was not unique amongst his compatriots.

More interesting was an analysis on the cellular level. Tissue samples from both the corpse and Petunia's umbilical cord had been examined to identify possible internal differences in cell chemistry and structure. On the whole they were similar, the biggest difference being the presence of a component identified in Donovan and Diana's own cells to be related to split, however they were much bigger. The specific scale depended on tissue type, but in general they were about 50-75% larger in terms of volume.

The implications were immense, however Arc insisted that any and all attempts to explain it without trials were an exercise in futility.

"Donovan?"

"Yeah?" Titanyana stood just beyond the threshold of the room.

"Arya is awake."

"Arya?" Donovan couldn't recall the name, but given the context - "Oh, right, the girl. Am I needed?"

"She's . . . defensive. My presence seems to be tolerated, as does a few of the other ladies, but she won't speak to us or look us in the eyes." Twisting around to look at her revealed flat ears and a tail held in her hands. "Nobody can touch her without her recoiling, not even her father. He's not taking it well."

"Alright." Donovan heard enough. They were likely at their wits end trying to figure out how to approach her. "I'll be right over."

- - - - -

An exhausted man sat on the floor just outside of Arya's assigned room, head in his hands. His hair and tail were a striking blonde, bordering on silver, which in combination with red eyes was indicative of belonging to the 'Iron Back' clan. A little bit shorter and bulkier than other clans, they supposedly had a predisposition towards mining, a profession in which they were aided by better nocturnal vision and a smaller overall frame. Perhaps more important to this specific circumstance was their tendency to be stubborn and otherwise socially inept.

They also suffered from narcolepsy in strong light, which Arc hypothesized to be an inversion of the body's melatonin production signals to avoid drowsiness in dark environments. How the hell that happened for what was effectively a randomly selected portion of the Nekh population without being a directly inherited trait baffled both of them, but at this point the peculiarities of the Nekh existed beyond their genetic models. 

Fortunately for Donovan, who wanted no part in addressing her guardian without understanding Arya's current state, he was unresponsive to his approach. Closer inspection revealed his eyes to be closed, probably sleeping.

"Should I-"

"No, let him rest. He probably hasn't slept since he got here." Donovan motioned for Titanyana to stay outside while he opened the door. "Arya?"

Donovan did not want to wake the man, but he didn't want to surprise the girl either, especially not when she could be changing her clothes. Speaking gently to grab her attention was the better option, and if he didn't get an answer he could plausibly assume she was sleeping or nonverbal.

"May I come in?" One second, two seconds, three seconds without so much as a shuffle of bedsheets or tapping of footsteps. Confident now that he would not be receiving a verbal response, Donovan poked his head through the gap in search of some visual confirmation. Sure enough, she was curled up on the bed, back against the headboard and knees held tightly to her chest as she stared daggers at the door. "May I?"

Some of her tension vanished upon recognizing who had come to visit, though she was obviously hesitant to abandon her defensive stance entirely. Still, she gathered up enough agency to give him a nod.

"Thank you." Donovan kept it cordial and polite, slipping through the door and shutting it behind him. Supposing Arya trusted him more than others, having someone else present would only serve to raise her guard. Even then, Donovan started by giving her space, leaning against the wall opposite to the bed. "How are your injuries?"

". . . fine." Her position shifted slightly, as if to hide the bruises. 

"Are you hungry?" He could see a plate on the bedside table, cleaned of even crumbs, but it didn't hurt to ask. 

"I'm full."

"That's good. You need lots of food at your age, both to recover and to grow. Is there anything you need?" Donovan didn't want to use his icebreaker just yet.

"I'm fine."

"Are you?" No response. "May I sit next to you?"

Arya swung her legs towards the wall to make space for him, picking up her tail and placing it on her lap as she did. The difference in behavior from last night informed Donovan the source of her behavior was probably a little different. There was an element of trauma in it, that much could not be denied, however she wasn't acting as if that was the only thing bothering her. Knowing that, Donovan took his seat, kicking off his shoes before assuming a similar position to her - knees up and back against the headboard - and remained silent. Now that he was in her personal space, a space he had been invited into, he needed to ensure he wasn't being intrusive. Engagement would be on her terms, be it opening up herself or giving him some sort of indication it would be alright to speak.

And so he sat there, for a long while. Much longer than he would have liked, in fact. A great deal of time spent sitting next to a little girl, doing nothing. 

"I'm scared." The little girl sighed into her thighs.

"It's alright to be scared." Donovan fought the urge to draw her into a hug. "Nobody expects you to be fine after that."

"Do you . . . do you think I'll be able to have babies?"

"Huh?" Donovan was blindsided by the absurdity of the abrupt question. Was that really a concern she was having at the moment?

"Daddy said I'm not allowed to let a boy touch me like that until I grow up and find my partner, or else I won't be able to have a baby." Her lips quivered a little bit, as though she were about to cry. "Will I really not be able to have a baby? Am I broken?"

"I . . ." Donovan hesitated. Now was not a time to answer such a strange question impulsively. Her father's words about not letting boys touch her was probably one of those things dads did to scare their daughters out of early relationships, he'd not heard anything suggesting prepubescent contact might have such a side effect. Then again, there was always the possibility this was one of those little old wives' tales pertaining to exactly this sort of situation - a traumatic sexual experience before puberty ruining the woman's ability to form a bond. In the first place, the worry about a baby was almost certainly brought about by her brief interaction with Petunia and Boromir, so it was probably better to approach from that angle. "To tell you the truth, I don't know. I barely understood how to deliver Boromir, but if you are broken I will do everything in my power to fix you. If I have to split mountains to figure out how to do it, that's just what I'll do."

"You can split mountains?"

"It's easier than you think." He said it for impact, but the splitting mountains and mending psychological damage involved entirely different skills sets. One could be accomplished through the proper application of nuclear warheads and tunnels, while the other famously involved neither of those things. Fortunately for her, the MRI scans suggested there would not be permanent damage to her reproductive organs . . . though that might not be the most reassuring thing if the damage was indeed psychological. "Still difficult though, so don't get any ideas."

"I won't." The joke looked like it did it's job, dragging her back from the verge of tears. "Mommy and daddy were always talking about how much they wanted grandbabies, and how lucky they were to have me."

"They really were lucky, having such a kind young lady as their daughter." He ruffled the top of her head, transitioning to ear scritches once her terrible bed head was ruined to a satisfactory degree. "Was the shame at being unable to have babies why you were so afraid of everyone else?"

". . . no, only daddy."

"He'd never be mad at you for what happened. It wasn't your fault." He pulled her into leaning on him, gently massaging around the bruises on her shoulder. "Do you think they can't be trusted?"

". . . maybe." Arya nestled her head into the side of his chest, her eyes growing lazy as she did. There could be no doubt about her exhaustion, how well could she reasonably be expected to sleep after that?

"I will personally punish anyone who hurts you, rest assured, so don't be so afraid, okay?"

"I'll try."

"Oh, right." The talk of punishment reminded him of the trinket he had for her in his pocket, a little something he had Arc make in a pinch. "I wanted to give this to you."

With his free hand, Donovan removed a small necklace from his pocket. The lace itself was an unsophisticated chain of circular steel links, something he planned to replace with a nicer material once it was available, however the ornament was a bit more inspired - the round he'd ejected from his pistol and handed to her, primer and powder safely removed and the bullet spot-welded to the brass casing internally.

"Can I put it on for you?"

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