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Those plants…their movements reminded him of home—a place without soil, but with plants that were so much more vigorous than on other worlds.
Auxiliary was a shapeshifting metal tool that, in this case, he could manifest physically as a crowbar.
Nomad had been on flying cities before, including one on a planet near his homeworld,
“You know, I liked you much better when you were alive.” And who is to blame for that?
But he could still hear. And somehow, in shutting out the light—there
within the blackness of his own design—he felt something. Something of the person he’d once been. Words once spoken. In a moment of glorious radiance.
Nomad, the hero says to his exceptionally lazy valet, this is no time to take a rest.
And maybe there was something to be said for the thinner air up here. Maybe he had been, after all, a little bit airsick…
“Sunlit,” Contemplation said. “A Sunlit Man.”
“Accept this observation: if he were a Sunlit One, he’d be helping us, not acting like…this.”
Plastic key cards were, of course, eschewed by them. They had a fetish for metal.
“Kal?” he asked into the storm. The figure turned, revealing a hawkish face and an eminently punchable grin.
“Aw, Damnation,” Nomad said with a sigh. “Wit? What the hell are you doing here?”
Her body vaporized by the heat, her soul condensed into this stone.”
Storms.
Storms.
storming
Damnation,
Please, no, the knight says. I’m no god. I work for a living.
“Send someone else to salvage this, Rebeke. What is that blinking light there on the dash of the cycle?”
Damnation.
Damnation.
Storms,
Damnation.
storms.
Damnation,
Damnation.
“Damnation.
storming
